Celine's Restoration

“Arrrgghh!” Celine screamed as she tore out yet another paper and threw it angrily to the ground, adding to the little heap beside her of similarly crumbled papers. She stared at it wistfully for a second and swung out her hand suddenly, sending the drawing board and the paint cascading to the floor in a dull thud. She sighed. The insane objects could have at least given her the satisfaction of banging on the floor. But no, it had to land inaudibly as if mocking her outraged shenanigans.

“Damn it, I used to be so good.” Celine sobbed as she bent to pick her tools from the floor. Whoever said lashing out was therapeutic obviously took her for the fool she was. Her only achievement was nearly damaged tools and a paint-soiled room.

True to her word, Celine hadn’t always been like this. But the death of her twin brother, she found out, had taken not just her smile, but her love for art and occasionally, her will to live. Now, after two years, she had yet to draw, let alone paint anything. It was like the artistic part of her that had been like a never-ending fountain, had been shut off completely like a faulty tap. She didn’t know what to do and her helplessness, more than anything led to her outbursts.

Celine was tired of letting her predicament weigh heavy on her mind so on the day of her brother’s death anniversary, the day she usually shut herself to the world to avoid them witnessing the depth of her despair, she went out, drawing book in hand, hopelessness etched so painfully on her face. Celine was unaware of why she carried her drawing book along with her even though it was certain she wasn’t going to use it or why she’d even come out in the first place but she felt something about her journey outside that day.

She walked along the path, destination unspecific but relying on her instincts to guide her. She didn’t know when her feet took her to the front of the mountain. A tear slipped from her eye as she gazed at what used to be his favourite spot in the whole world. But it had dried up a day after her brother’s death. Like it knew that its biggest fan was no more. So, for two years it stood, bleak and devoid of the glory it once had.

“What am I going to do? Where do I go from here? How I miss you, Clive. How deeply I miss you.” Celine wept into her hands.

She did not know how long she sat there bawling into her hands but suddenly, she heard a sound like rushing water and slowly opened her eyes to the formerly dried-up fountain, now gushing with water. She saw a man close to it and walked up to him.

“ ‘Scuse me, Sir. What’s going on?”

“Why ma’am, the fountain’s been repaired. You don’t want that?” The man asked, bemused.

“No, I mean yes. Of course, I want it repaired. I just wondered why today of all days.”

“Not sure ma’am. I just got my orders that it had to be fixed today and that’s what I’ve done. Hope you have a good day.” He saluted her with his cap and walked off, whistling.

Celine was rooted to the spot, staring at the fountain, now beautifully full of life. Then, she burst into laughter. She traipsed to the park bench opposite the fountain where she’d sat and picked up her pencil. Looking ahead of her towards Clive’s fountain as she had impulsively christened it, she began to draw excitedly on her paper. Tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She was restored.

Jhymi🖤

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_{An extended entry to @mariannewest's daily prompt.}