I am just a human being, like one of many. When I disappear, I don't want to leave behind only a dusty black and white photograph, a worn pair of leather shoes or an unused umbrella. When, in a few years, your child looks at these items and asks: "Who does this belong to?", you will not answer because you will have forgotten. I will give you something more. These are all my unspoken words.
I remember you from the moment we met. In the abyss of the past I see a tiny girl playing outside. She is dressed in a bright pink dress with a butterfly embroidered in the middle. Her light brown hair is tied up in two ponytails, her favourite hairstyle. The child has no shortage of reasons to be happy. She holds a colourful chalk in her hand and after a while a variety of shapes are formed on the pavement. When the space for the masterpieces begins to run out, the little girl looks with joy at what she has created. After a while, tiny raindrops begin to fall from the sky.
"My paintings..." she repeats resignedly.
"Don't worry." says a boy across the street, who has been watching the girl for a long time.
A smile appears on the little one's face as a blue-eyed boy with an umbrella crosses the road. He watches the little girl's paintings with concentration before the increasingly heavy downpour completely destroys them.
"Come on, let's hide under my umbrella" he suggests.
"But..." says the girl, not wanting to leave what she has created.
"Your creations were beautiful. The flowers, the butterflies.... It was all created thanks to you. Don't you think it's more beautiful that you'll be able to paint them again when the street dries up?"
Although my images were becoming fleeting, fading under the onslaught of rain, it was then that I saw how much we both had in common. I began to notice you more often. Your sensitivity to the world, the sense of empathy in your eyes, it was something I noticed in each of your simple but heartfelt gestures. I miss those carefree times when any rain could be an excuse to create something beautiful, when the world could be re-created with a coloured chalk.
This is my entry in the Hyborian Dream writing competition. The text above is one of a collection of my stories that I write regularly. Hope you enjoyed it!