There was a newborn, baby girl that was drawn on a white page with a Number 2. Pencil. She had the smallest of limbs and the nimblest of bodies. She was no bigger than one's thumb! And although she was little she was fierce; she would kick and scream for hours on end to get what she wanted. She had these striking and beautiful eyes and this peaceful smile that warmed one's heart when she finally was finally drawn to sleep. She was little Dalia, and she was one of the artist's greatest creations. The artist loved Dalia; he loved her so much that he felt he could not wait for her to grow up and he wanted her to grow up to be bigger and stronger like the girl he knew she was meant to be.
So he drew her older and taller; longer and a bit bigger all around, and he gave her short hair that stretches meticulously behind her ears with a little pink bow that he instinctively colored in. “Aha!” he thought as he drew. She needs colors he thought for she is to be expressive and free, and Dalia without color and is no Dalia at all. So he gave her blonde hair that popped, colored in her narrow eyes with blue that dazzled as they reflected the world in her view, he used apricot for her skin with a tiny brown dimple above her nose, faintly pink lips so Dalia could smile even better than before as the charming little girl she was, and gave her a blue dress to wear to match her newly colored eyes. She twirled in a spin and with courtesy she stretched out her dress and nodded to thank the artist. She even blew him a kiss with a smile.
She was shaping out to be a pretty little girl with a big heart and lot of personality. She was drawn by the artist in a scene that depicts her running around in a green and clean park with her arms out wide screaming and yelling, “I will fly, and fly! Fly like a butterfly!” She was so incredibly sweet that the artist gave her some ice-cream as a treat, and it was vanilla her favorite. Dalia smiled and laughed, played and ran, danced and singed, and it looked as if Dalia could do anything. The artist was proud of his creation that has grown so much, but he felt that still it was not enough.
Dalia was getting bigger and bigger so fast. She was getting bigger than his thumb in no time and soon she was able to ride on bikes and go out and play with new friends the artist had drawn for her so she would not get lonely when he was away. What a treasure she was! What a kind girl Dalia was the artist thought, smiling with more pride than ever before in his creation that is so smart, so pretty, and so tough to boot. He never wanted these days to end with his most lovable and daring creation.
Eventually, Dalia grew and grew, her hair getting longer and flowing down her back like a waterfall. Her pupils got bigger and prettier, her nose, her lips, her body, and even her heart grew as well.
She was already a teenage girl in no time at all! How did that happen the artist wondered? He would have to draw more clothes for her to wear so she would always be fashionable: new shoes and new clothes and new everything! Dalia jumped up with glee, enjoying her new found wardrobe. She had grown out of dresses and bows which made the artist sad but she could not be a little girl forever, except in his heart. He knew she would have to get a job soon as well so she drew her a car to drive to and from work. His hands grew tired and sore form his endless work as an artist, yet still he had to draw for Dalia to make sure she was happy. She would do reckless things as all teenagers do, the artist has done plenty in his day. There would be times where she is sad and needed some love. So he drew her hands outstretched to his finger so she would know she is not alone. Then there were times when she was mad and barred herself up in her room, leaving the artist to wonder if he had been wrong or someone else?
Dalia was still his sweet child, his cherished creation no matter if they fought or argued over her choices or his own. Dalia was no ordinary girl the Artist affirmed when he drew her in a new scene, brush in hand and paint in the other. She took after her creator as one would expect. She always drew butterflies. “How odd!” he thought that a girl such as her would love bugs so much. Chasing butterflies, hunting for fireflies, and watching with a curious eye as the ants go by. Even as a young woman she was still a kid at heart. There were good times and bad in Dalia’s life. She had her heart broken by boys in love so the artist drew her a bat so she could whack them over their heads. She won awards for her poetry and art so the artist drew her a vanilla flavored cake to eat and gave her a high-five. It looked like Dalia was going to have a good life, until the artist thought to himself where be Dalia’s family? She had to have a mom and a dad but as his pencil touched the paper he realized what he could not do. Dalia had grown up so much without a mom or a dad already, that he had not even asked if all this time deep down she was sad.
Was Dalia all alone inside? Was she crying when he was gone or hurting without him knowing? With where she was now... Did she even think of him?
The artist began to cry.
So he instinctively drew Dalia coming to check up on him and with a chat bubble drawn she asked, “Why are you crying? Is it because you are sad?”
The artist stared down at Dalia, looking at her sweet eyes and sweet smile. He shook his head no and told Dalia he was fine which was a lie.
Dalia was not naive and gave him a stern look. “Well if you aren’t sad, then neither am I! We’re family, you and I!” She did a little twirl, stomped her foot on the ground, and danced for the artist and sung for him like she did when she was a kid. How sweet the artist thought. So sweet… So Sweet… “Is there anything more blissful than the truth?” He smiled as he thought. "If we are family then we must always be honest with one another. Little white lies too. Because the truth is always right."
He looked back down and noticed Dalia thinking to herself so he asked her what she was thinking about. Dalia looked up to him and nervously asked if she could be older, taller, and smarter too. She wanted to be ready for her future and move on with her life. This shocked the artist, he was not ready he thought. But he could not refuse... Her creator he was! He had a job to do! He needed to prepare for Dalia’s future right away! He frantically made her taller and older, a young woman with beauty abound everywhere one looked. How spectacular he thought, but he knew a young woman in this world would not get anywhere with just beauty alone. Dalia was right. She needed smarts too! So he drew her graduation day with her cap and gown, diploma in hand and had the biggest smile as she finally did it. “Yes,” he thought, "Yes!” She had finally done it. She was now a graduate and ready to head off to college. She would study for her education and graduate from that too. Luckily the artist made sure to draw all the scholarships and awards she got. After that she would get her dream job as he hoped would be an artist or whatever she should choose, meet a great person and have her own family and be a great mom too, and then-896Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRQpUtzG6Is
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The artist stopped. He stopped his hand that could draw no more. It was all too much. How could he continue on like this knowing how it all ended? He needed to tell himself the truth... He was no father he thought. He was no real dad he told himself.
What was even to gain from telling himself this truth? More pain? More grief? More sadness that he will wrought? He had lost his little girl so long ago that he just wanted to experience it, a life with his precious creation. His wife had left days his calendar no longer remembers and he is struggling to get by. The note outside his small room’s door says his time to pay the rent is long overdue. His days are numbered and so is his declining and neglected health, and he wanted nothing more than to see his baby girl again that ran around and played. With his final hours nearing on his end he told himself he needed to end his drawings in one spectacular way. It was the least he could do for his creation.
So he drew Dalia’s happy ending: she had a family with two kids and a big eco-friendly house. She lived in the fields so she could be close to the butterflies and the fireflies she grew to adore. She was smiling and laughing, dancing and singing, and now her family was too right beside her. She was happy the artist thought. His job was done. He had drew what was to be his final work he believed.
He was about to put down the pencil when he noticed something on the back of his final page. There were words that could be seen beneath the page of his drawing. He had forgotten whose sketchbook this belonged to originally. It was his daughter’s sketchbook who drew by herself and wrote poetry within. He turned the page to the next one and instantly the artist began to cry.
It was a childlike drawing of a young girl that resembled Dalia saying, “Daddy, don’t cry. Even if I am gone… I will always love you. So try not to be sad! I will come back to visit you soon, so just wait and you will see. No little illness will ever get me! I am your greatest creation, I know. But for you and all you have done for me there is something I must show. I have created something just for you. Turn the page, and let mommy see too!”
The artist turned the page and though he cried he smiled so brightly. It was another childish drawing of a small, little girl. No bigger than his thumb, short hair, a dress, a bow in her hair, and little limbs and a small body. She was holding the hands of a young woman and a young man. Together they were happy, together they were smiling. Together… Nothing could have torn them apart.
At last the artist closed the sketchbook and wiped his tears. He rethought to himself why he had to tell himself the truth. He needed to accept the truth that it was not all bad and that all was not for naught. “The truth is… I am happy to have gotten the chance to be a dad,” the artist said to himself. “The truth is… I love you, Dalia. Rest in peace, my greatest creation.”
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