Yellow sun grazes Sanaa’s face. It is the sun that she longs for when it isn’t present. The sun that motivates and pushes her towards the truth. She wakes up. A yawn. A smile. She’s home. As Sanaa makes her way towards the kitchen, memories that live in her surroundings are forced towards her. Sanaa passes the crumbling windowsill that her pet parakeets flew out of when she was eight, the teal carpet that she tripped on when she was four, her grandmother’s bedroom door. It hadn’t been opened since Grandma Doris’ passing. Sanaa hasn’t been able to get herself to step inside or to even turn the door knob but as the new Gifted One in the family, she knew that she would have to at some point.
Promptly at 7:30, the creaky screen door swings open and in walks Ruka. His long electric blue coat drags across the beige tile as he exclaims, “Sanaa, you still around?”
“Of course I am” she replies. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Ruka’s flip flops squeak against the floor as he walks towards the back of the house only to find Sanaa in her usual paint stained tattered jeans and brightly printed top leaning over a wooden bowl of mangoes. Sanaa turns around offering him the sweet smelling fruit.
“You want one?” she asks. “They’re freshly drawn”.
Ruka scoffs playfully, “We get it you’re Gifted, Sanaa. We have a lot of work to do today. I’ve got bad news.”
The two friends make their way to where they do all their planning, the backyard. As they sit on the dusty concrete steps, Ruka pulls out a map and points to the south.
“Ruka, we went there last weekend” said Sanaa.
“I know” Ruka replied. “I got word of someone people call The Green Man. I guess he’s some sort of government agent. He’s has a Gift too and he walks around destroying everything he touches. People say he has to wear gloves most of the time but in the south, he made sure that he ruined everything we delivered last weekend” he continues.
“Everything? All of the food? The water?”
“Yeah.”
“We have to go back” Sanaa felt blood rush to her ears.
“Are you sure? I mean it’s gotten dangerous and I heard that that agent hangs out their pretty often now and you’ll have to disguise yourself to get in because I’m sure they’ll be looking for you and--”
“We have to go back” she insisted. “I have this Gift now and I won’t be able to live with myself unless I use it for good. I know it’s what my grandma would’ve wanted.”
Conflicting thoughts run through Sanaa’s mind as she tries to figure out whether self preservation will come before her desire to help the millions of impoverished people around her. She knows that government purposely leaves people without basic resources out of sheer greed. She knows that the Gift passed on to her would be able to stop so many deaths like the one that her grandmother endured, and she knows that her Gift could help so many. Sanaa thinks about the worry in Ruka’s voice. She’d have to make the delivery without him and she’s never done anything like this alone. In the midst of her mental battle, the voice of her grandmother creeps into her mind.
“Trust yourself, Sanaa.”
Her words were haunting but they communicated exactly what Sanaa needed to hear. The sun intensified and the sketchbook that lived in Sanaa’s back pocket burned. With those pages and a yellow wooden pencil that lay on the messy paint stained table, Sanaa drew. She crafted mangoes, and oranges, and bananas. She drew jugs of clear water and filters for the dirty water she was bound to face. She illustrated life’s necessities and hours later, she was surrounded by a surplus of goods to take to the south. Enough to replace what was destroyed and more.
The rickety pickup comes to a halt. As the illustrated garbage truck disguise Sanaa created for herself dissolves around her, the dust cloud in her rear view mirror clears. Sanaa looks up and is surprised to see a silver BMW halt behind her. Maybe her disguise hadn’t worked. The sports car’s rims glint in the sun and as if on cue clouds roll into to the usually ever-bright sky and the people residing on their house stoops creep back inside. As Sanaa steps out of the pickup she eyes the painters tarp that lay protectant of the supplies she had planned to deliver. She directs her gaze to the shiny car to see a door swing open and a pointed crocodile leather shoe rest on the red dust. A man in an emerald green suit stares at her through gold rimmed sunglasses. An equally metallic glove reaches to adjust his snake-patterned tie and although Sanaa has never seen him in person, she knows who faces her. He smirks. He approaches her with an outstretched hand, condescending in nature.
“It’s good to finally meet you” he says with a sneer across his face. “What’s in the truck”.
He removed his left glove and Sanaa reaches for the sketch book burning in her back pocket.
“Don’t” she insists as she watches his bare hand drift towards the bed of her truck.
“You are in violation of several federal laws” The Green Man replies.
He grazes the tarp with his pointer finger. Sanaa watches it disintegrate.
“Violation one” he continues, “distributing food and supplies without a permit”.
He brushes against a jug of water.
“Violation two, inciting bad opinions about the government” he says while gripping a crumbling loaf of bread. “Shall I continue?”
“Why fight against the very people that inspired you?” Sanaa chimes up. “Why target the vulnerable?”
“You are being mislead I personally have no problem with helping the people that live in these houses but it is my duty to stop those who contradict the effort of the --” Sanaa cuts him off.
“Look.”
The artist had sketched a scene ever so common in this part of the country. On the the surface of her page, a small child, maybe seven, walks outside of a crumbling structure towards a puddle of water, a remnant of occasional rain. With cupped hands he reaches towards the ground, dips his them into the murky liquid and takes a sip. The child walks back towards the structure gripping his stomach.
“Look” she repeated. “I know that at some point you wanted to help and you still can. Your Gift does not have to be used this way.”
The Green Man stares into the page as if waiting for a second act to a play.
“This is real” Sanaa interrupted silence.
Without noise, The Green Man reached for the ground where his shiny glove lay dusted with red soil. He picks it up, wipes it off against his slacks, and slides it back onto his hand.
“You can still help these people” Sanaa made an effort to convince him that is abilities could be assets to her cause but he was steadfast in walking away. Haunted by his past he was able to realize that his hate for her was only due to his jealousy. His Gift was one that destroyed when destruction used to be the opposite of what he longed for. His Gift felt like a curse.
“I’m done” he stuttered.
With that, he sped away leaving Sanaa in a shroud of dust only to turn back around, pass by her, look out of his tinted window and nod. She sighed, stuck her sketchbook back into her tattered jeans and turned towards her truck. A smile crept across her face. This was only a beginning, she knew that, but as the smell of freshly drawn mangoes waft towards her with the breeze, the clouds retreat, the ever-bright sky returns, and hope is known again.
Yellow sun grazes Sanaa’s face. It is the sun that she longs for when it isn’t present. The sun that motivates and pushes her towards the truth. She wakes up. A yawn. A smile. She’s home. As Sanaa makes her way towards the kitchen, memories that live in her surroundings are forced towards her. Sanaa passes the crumbling windowsill that her pet parakeets flew out of when she was eight, the teal carpet that she tripped on when she was four, her grandmother’s bedroom door. Sanaa had made a routine of passing it but a soft whirring noise coming from inside drew her closer. Hesitantly she grips the tarnished door knob. It creaks as she twists it open to reveal a space that she would never imagine she’d find. The walls are lined with loud paintings in kaleidoscopic colours. The carpets are littered with paint brushes stiff with pigment. A basket of brand new spray paint cans call Sanaa to the center of the room. The aroma of fresh fruits make their way towards her and she looks up to find her grandmother’s graffitied handwriting dancing onto the only blank spot on the walls. It reads “Trust yourself, Sanaa”. The window that found itself open lets a whirring breeze escape through lacy curtains.
Promptly at 7:30, the creaky screen door swings open and in walks Ruka. His long electric blue coat drags across the beige tile as he exclaims, “Sanaa, you still around?”
“Of course I am” she replies. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Ruka’s flip flops squeak against the floor as he walks towards the back of the house only to find Sanaa in her usual paint stained tattered jeans and brightly printed top leaning over a wooden bowl of mangoes. Sanaa turns around offering him the sweet smelling fruit.
“You want one?” she asks. “They’re freshly drawn”.
Ruka scoffs playfully, “We get it you’re Gifted, Sanaa. We have a lot of work to do today. I’ve got bad news.”
The two friends make their way to where they do all their planning, the backyard. As they sit on the dusty concrete steps, Ruka pulls out a map and points to the south.
“Ruka, we went there last weekend” said Sanaa.
“I know” Ruka replied. “I got word of someone people call The Green Man. I guess he’s some sort of government agent. He’s has a Gift too and he walks around destroying everything he touches. People say he has to wear gloves most of the time but in the south, he made sure that he ruined everything we delivered last weekend” he continues.
“Everything? All of the food? The water?”
“Yeah.”
“We have to go back” Sanaa felt blood rush to her ears.
“Are you sure? I mean it’s gotten dangerous and I heard that that agent hangs out their pretty often now and you’ll have to disguise yourself to get in because I’m sure they’ll be looking for you and--”
“We have to go back” she insisted. “I have this Gift now and I won’t be able to live with myself unless I use it for good. I know it’s what my grandma would’ve wanted.”
Conflicting thoughts run through Sanaa’s mind as she tries to figure out whether self preservation will come before her desire to help the millions of impoverished people around her. She knows that government purposely leaves people without basic resources out of sheer greed. She knows that the Gift passed on to her would be able to stop so many deaths like the one that her grandmother endured, and she knows that her Gift could help so many. Sanaa thinks about the worry in Ruka’s voice. She’d have to make the delivery without him and she’s never done anything like this alone. In the midst of her mental battle, the voice of her grandmother creeps into her mind.
“Trust yourself, Sanaa.”
Her words were haunting but they communicated exactly what Sanaa needed to hear. The sun intensified and the sketchbook that lived in Sanaa’s back pocket burned. With those pages and a yellow wooden pencil that lay on the messy paint stained table, Sanaa drew. She crafted mangoes, and oranges, and bananas. She drew jugs of clear water and filters for the dirty water she was bound to face. She illustrated life’s necessities and hours later, she was surrounded by a surplus of goods to take to the south. Enough to replace what was destroyed and more.
The rickety pickup comes to a halt. As the illustrated garbage truck disguise Sanaa created for herself dissolves around her, the dust cloud in her rear view mirror clears. Sanaa looks up and is surprised to see a silver BMW halt behind her. Maybe her disguise hadn’t worked. The sports car’s rims glint in the sun and as if on cue clouds roll into to the usually ever-bright sky and the people residing on their house stoops creep back inside. As Sanaa steps out of the pickup she eyes the painters tarp that lay protectant of the supplies she had planned to deliver. She directs her gaze to the shiny car to see a door swing open and a pointed crocodile leather shoe rest on the red dust. A man in an emerald green suit stares at her through gold rimmed sunglasses. An equally metallic glove reaches to adjust his snake-patterned tie and although Sanaa has never seen him in person, she knows who faces her. He smirks. He approaches her with an outstretched hand, condescending in nature.
“It’s good to finally meet you” he says with a sneer across his face. “What’s in the truck”.
He removed his left glove and Sanaa reaches for the sketch book burning in her back pocket.
“Don’t” she insists as she watches his bare hand drift towards the bed of her truck.
“You are in violation of several federal laws” The Green Man replies.
He grazes the tarp with his pointer finger. Sanaa watches it disintegrate.
“Violation one” he continues, “distributing food and supplies without a permit”.
He brushes against a jug of water.
“Violation two, inciting bad opinions about the government” he says while gripping a crumbling loaf of bread. “Shall I continue?”
“Why fight against the very people that inspired you?” Sanaa chimes up. “Why target the vulnerable?”
“You are being mislead I personally have no problem with helping the people that live in these houses but it is my duty to stop those who contradict the effort of the --” Sanaa cuts him off.
“Look.”
The artist had sketched a scene ever so common in this part of the country. On the the surface of her page, a small child, maybe seven, walks outside of a crumbling structure towards a puddle of water, a remnant of occasional rain. With cupped hands he reaches towards the ground, dips his them into the murky liquid and takes a sip. The child walks back towards the structure gripping his stomach.
“Look” she repeated. “I know that at some point you wanted to help and you still can. Your Gift does not have to be used this way.”
The Green Man stares into the page as if waiting for a second act to a play.
“This is real” Sanaa interrupted silence.
Without noise, The Green Man reached for the ground where his shiny glove lay dusted with red soil. He picks it up, wipes it off against his slacks, and slides it back onto his hand.
“You can still help these people” Sanaa made an effort to convince him that is abilities could be assets to her cause but he was steadfast in walking away. Haunted by his past he was able to realize that his hate for her was only due to his jealousy. His Gift was one that destroyed when destruction used to be the opposite of what he longed for. His Gift felt like a curse.
“I’m done” he stuttered.
With that, he sped away leaving Sanaa in a shroud of dust only to turn back around, pass by her, look out of his tinted window and nod. She sighed, stuck her sketchbook back into her tattered jeans and turned towards her truck. A smile crept across her face. This was only a beginning, she knew that, but as the smell of freshly drawn mangoes waft towards her with the breeze, the clouds retreat, the ever-bright sky returns, and hope is known again.
Yellow sun grazes Sanaa’s face. It is the sun that she longs for when it isn’t present. The sun that motivates and pushes her towards the truth. She wakes up. A yawn. A smile. She’s home. As Sanaa makes her way towards the kitchen, memories that live in her surroundings are forced towards her. Sanaa passes the crumbling windowsill that her pet parakeets flew out of when she was eight, the teal carpet that she tripped on when she was four, her grandmother’s bedroom door. Sanaa had made a routine of passing it but a soft whirring noise coming from inside drew her closer. Hesitantly she grips the tarnished door knob. It creaks as she twists it open to reveal a space that she would never imagine she’d find. The walls are lined with loud paintings in kaleidoscopic colours. The carpets are littered with paint brushes stiff with pigment. A basket of brand new spray paint cans call Sanaa to the center of the room. The aroma of fresh fruits make their way towards her and she looks up to find her grandmother’s graffitied handwriting dancing onto the only blank spot on the walls. It reads “Trust yourself, Sanaa”. The window that found itself open lets a whirring breeze escape through lacy curtains.
Yellow sun grazes Sanaa’s face. It is the sun that she longs for when it isn’t present. The sun that motivates and pushes her towards the truth. She wakes up. A yawn. A smile. She’s home. As Sanaa makes her way towards the kitchen, memories that live in her surroundings are forced towards her. Sanaa passes the crumbling windowsill that her pet parakeets flew out of when she was eight, the teal carpet that she tripped on when she was four, her grandmother’s bedroom door. It hadn’t been opened since Grandma Doris’ passing. Sanaa hasn’t been able to get herself to step inside or to even turn the door knob but as the new Gifted One in the family, she knew that she would have to at some point.
Promptly at 7:30, the creaky screen door swings open and in walks Ruka. His long electric blue coat drags across the beige tile as he exclaims, “Sanaa, you still around?”
“Of course I am” she replies. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Ruka’s flip flops squeak against the floor as he walks towards the back of the house only to find Sanaa in her usual paint stained tattered jeans and brightly printed top leaning over a wooden bowl of mangoes. Sanaa turns around offering him the sweet smelling fruit.
“You want one?” she asks. “They’re freshly drawn”.
Ruka scoffs playfully, “We get it you’re Gifted, Sanaa. We have a lot of work to do today. I’ve got bad news.”
The two friends make their way to where they do all their planning, the backyard. As they sit on the dusty concrete steps, Ruka pulls out a map and points to the south.
“Ruka, we went there last weekend” said Sanaa.
“I know” Ruka replied. “I got word of someone people call The Green Man. I guess he’s some sort of government agent. He’s has a Gift too and he walks around destroying everything he touches. People say he has to wear gloves most of the time but in the south, he made sure that he ruined everything we delivered last weekend” he continues.
“Everything? All of the food? The water?”
“Yeah.”
“We have to go back” Sanaa felt blood rush to her ears.
“Are you sure? I mean it’s gotten dangerous and I heard that that agent hangs out their pretty often now and you’ll have to disguise yourself to get in because I’m sure they’ll be looking for you and--”
“We have to go back” she insisted. “I have this Gift now and I won’t be able to live with myself unless I use it for good. I know it’s what my grandma would’ve wanted.”
Conflicting thoughts run through Sanaa’s mind as she tries to figure out whether self preservation will come before her desire to help the millions of impoverished people around her. She knows that government purposely leaves people without basic resources out of sheer greed. She knows that the Gift passed on to her would be able to stop so many deaths like the one that her grandmother endured, and she knows that her Gift could help so many. Sanaa thinks about the worry in Ruka’s voice. She’d have to make the delivery without him and she’s never done anything like this alone. In the midst of her mental battle, the voice of her grandmother creeps into her mind.
“Trust yourself, Sanaa.”
Her words were haunting but they communicated exactly what Sanaa needed to hear. The sun intensified and the sketchbook that lived in Sanaa’s back pocket burned. With those pages and a yellow wooden pencil that lay on the messy paint stained table, Sanaa drew. She crafted mangoes, and oranges, and bananas. She drew jugs of clear water and filters for the dirty water she was bound to face. She illustrated life’s necessities and hours later, she was surrounded by a surplus of goods to take to the south. Enough to replace what was destroyed and more.
The rickety pickup comes to a halt. As the illustrated garbage truck disguise Sanaa created for herself dissolves around her, the dust cloud in her rear view mirror clears. Sanaa looks up and is surprised to see a silver BMW halt behind her. Maybe her disguise hadn’t worked. The sports car’s rims glint in the sun and as if on cue clouds roll into to the usually ever-bright sky and the people residing on their house stoops creep back inside. As Sanaa steps out of the pickup she eyes the painters tarp that lay protectant of the supplies she had planned to deliver. She directs her gaze to the shiny car to see a door swing open and a pointed crocodile leather shoe rest on the red dust. A man in an emerald green suit stares at her through gold rimmed sunglasses. An equally metallic glove reaches to adjust his snake-patterned tie and although Sanaa has never seen him in person, she knows who faces her. He smirks. He approaches her with an outstretched hand, condescending in nature.
“It’s good to finally meet you” he says with a sneer across his face. “What’s in the truck”.
He removed his left glove and Sanaa reaches for the sketch book burning in her back pocket.
“Don’t” she insists as she watches his bare hand drift towards the bed of her truck.
“You are in violation of several federal laws” The Green Man replies.
He grazes the tarp with his pointer finger. Sanaa watches it disintegrate.
“Violation one” he continues, “distributing food and supplies without a permit”.
He brushes against a jug of water.
“Violation two, inciting bad opinions about the government” he says while gripping a crumbling loaf of bread. “Shall I continue?”
“Why fight against the very people that inspired you?” Sanaa chimes up. “Why target the vulnerable?”
“You are being mislead I personally have no problem with helping the people that live in these houses but it is my duty to stop those who contradict the effort of the --” Sanaa cuts him off.
“Look.”
The artist had sketched a scene ever so common in this part of the country. On the the surface of her page, a small child, maybe seven, walks outside of a crumbling structure towards a puddle of water, a remnant of occasional rain. With cupped hands he reaches towards the ground, dips his them into the murky liquid and takes a sip. The child walks back towards the structure gripping his stomach.
“Look” she repeated. “I know that at some point you wanted to help and you still can. Your Gift does not have to be used this way.”
The Green Man stares into the page as if waiting for a second act to a play.
“This is real” Sanaa interrupted silence.
Without noise, The Green Man reached for the ground where his shiny glove lay dusted with red soil. He picks it up, wipes it off against his slacks, and slides it back onto his hand.
“You can still help these people” Sanaa made an effort to convince him that is abilities could be assets to her cause but he was steadfast in walking away. Haunted by his past he was able to realize that his hate for her was only due to his jealousy. His Gift was one that destroyed when destruction used to be the opposite of what he longed for. His Gift felt like a curse.
“I’m done” he stuttered.
With that, he sped away leaving Sanaa in a shroud of dust only to turn back around, pass by her, look out of his tinted window and nod. She sighed, stuck her sketchbook back into her tattered jeans and turned towards her truck. A smile crept across her face. This was only a beginning, she knew that, but as the smell of freshly drawn mangoes waft towards her with the breeze, the clouds retreat, the ever-bright sky returns, and hope is known again.
Yellow sun grazes Sanaa’s face. It is the sun that she longs for when it isn’t present. The sun that motivates and pushes her towards the truth. She wakes up. A yawn. A smile. She’s home. As Sanaa makes her way towards the kitchen, memories that live in her surroundings are forced towards her. Sanaa passes the crumbling windowsill that her pet parakeets flew out of when she was eight, the teal carpet that she tripped on when she was four, her grandmother’s bedroom door. Sanaa had made a routine of passing it but a soft whirring noise coming from inside drew her closer. Hesitantly she grips the tarnished door knob. It creaks as she twists it open to reveal a space that she would never imagine she’d find. The walls are lined with loud paintings in kaleidoscopic colours. The carpets are littered with paint brushes stiff with pigment. A basket of brand new spray paint cans call Sanaa to the center of the room. The aroma of fresh fruits make their way towards her and she looks up to find her grandmother’s graffitied handwriting dancing onto the only blank spot on the walls. It reads “Trust yourself, Sanaa”. The window that found itself open lets a whirring breeze escape through lacy curtains.
Yellow sun grazes Sanaa’s face. It is the sun that she longs for when it isn’t present. The sun that motivates and pushes her towards the truth. She wakes up. A yawn. A smile. She’s home. As Sanaa makes her way towards the kitchen, memories that live in her surroundings are forced towards her. Sanaa passes the crumbling windowsill that her pet parakeets flew out of when she was eight, the teal carpet that she tripped on when she was four, her grandmother’s bedroom door. It hadn’t been opened since Grandma Doris’ passing. Sanaa hasn’t been able to get herself to step inside or to even turn the door knob but as the new Gifted One in the family, she knew that she would have to at some point.
Promptly at 7:30, the creaky screen door swings open and in walks Ruka. His long electric blue coat drags across the beige tile as he exclaims, “Sanaa, you still around?”
“Of course I am” she replies. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Ruka’s flip flops squeak against the floor as he walks towards the back of the house only to find Sanaa in her usual paint stained tattered jeans and brightly printed top leaning over a wooden bowl of mangoes. Sanaa turns around offering him the sweet smelling fruit.
“You want one?” she asks. “They’re freshly drawn”.
Ruka scoffs playfully, “We get it you’re Gifted, Sanaa. We have a lot of work to do today. I’ve got bad news.”
The two friends make their way to where they do all their planning, the backyard. As they sit on the dusty concrete steps, Ruka pulls out a map and points to the south.
“Ruka, we went there last weekend” said Sanaa.
“I know” Ruka replied. “I got word of someone people call The Green Man. I guess he’s some sort of government agent. He’s has a Gift too and he walks around destroying everything he touches. People say he has to wear gloves most of the time but in the south, he made sure that he ruined everything we delivered last weekend” he continues.
“Everything? All of the food? The water?”
“Yeah.”
“We have to go back” Sanaa felt blood rush to her ears.
“Are you sure? I mean it’s gotten dangerous and I heard that that agent hangs out their pretty often now and you’ll have to disguise yourself to get in because I’m sure they’ll be looking for you and--”
“We have to go back” she insisted. “I have this Gift now and I won’t be able to live with myself unless I use it for good. I know it’s what my grandma would’ve wanted.”
Conflicting thoughts run through Sanaa’s mind as she tries to figure out whether self preservation will come before her desire to help the millions of impoverished people around her. She knows that government purposely leaves people without basic resources out of sheer greed. She knows that the Gift passed on to her would be able to stop so many deaths like the one that her grandmother endured, and she knows that her Gift could help so many. Sanaa thinks about the worry in Ruka’s voice. She’d have to make the delivery without him and she’s never done anything like this alone. In the midst of her mental battle, the voice of her grandmother creeps into her mind.
“Trust yourself, Sanaa.”
Her words were haunting but they communicated exactly what Sanaa needed to hear. The sun intensified and the sketchbook that lived in Sanaa’s back pocket burned. With those pages and a yellow wooden pencil that lay on the messy paint stained table, Sanaa drew. She crafted mangoes, and oranges, and bananas. She drew jugs of clear water and filters for the dirty water she was bound to face. She illustrated life’s necessities and hours later, she was surrounded by a surplus of goods to take to the south. Enough to replace what was destroyed and more.
The rickety pickup comes to a halt. As the illustrated garbage truck disguise Sanaa created for herself dissolves around her, the dust cloud in her rear view mirror clears. Sanaa looks up and is surprised to see a silver BMW halt behind her. Maybe her disguise hadn’t worked. The sports car’s rims glint in the sun and as if on cue clouds roll into to the usually ever-bright sky and the people residing on their house stoops creep back inside. As Sanaa steps out of the pickup she eyes the painters tarp that lay protectant of the supplies she had planned to deliver. She directs her gaze to the shiny car to see a door swing open and a pointed crocodile leather shoe rest on the red dust. A man in an emerald green suit stares at her through gold rimmed sunglasses. An equally metallic glove reaches to adjust his snake-patterned tie and although Sanaa has never seen him in person, she knows who faces her. He smirks. He approaches her with an outstretched hand, condescending in nature.
“It’s good to finally meet you” he says with a sneer across his face. “What’s in the truck”.
He removed his left glove and Sanaa reaches for the sketch book burning in her back pocket.
“Don’t” she insists as she watches his bare hand drift towards the bed of her truck.
“You are in violation of several federal laws” The Green Man replies.
He grazes the tarp with his pointer finger. Sanaa watches it disintegrate.
“Violation one” he continues, “distributing food and supplies without a permit”.
He brushes against a jug of water.
“Violation two, inciting bad opinions about the government” he says while gripping a crumbling loaf of bread. “Shall I continue?”
“Why fight against the very people that inspired you?” Sanaa chimes up. “Why target the vulnerable?”
“You are being mislead I personally have no problem with helping the people that live in these houses but it is my duty to stop those who contradict the effort of the --” Sanaa cuts him off.
“Look.”
The artist had sketched a scene ever so common in this part of the country. On the the surface of her page, a small child, maybe seven, walks outside of a crumbling structure towards a puddle of water, a remnant of occasional rain. With cupped hands he reaches towards the ground, dips his them into the murky liquid and takes a sip. The child walks back towards the structure gripping his stomach.
“Look” she repeated. “I know that at some point you wanted to help and you still can. Your Gift does not have to be used this way.”
The Green Man stares into the page as if waiting for a second act to a play.
“This is real” Sanaa interrupted silence.
Without noise, The Green Man reached for the ground where his shiny glove lay dusted with red soil. He picks it up, wipes it off against his slacks, and slides it back onto his hand.
“You can still help these people” Sanaa made an effort to convince him that is abilities could be assets to her cause but he was steadfast in walking away. Haunted by his past he was able to realize that his hate for her was only due to his jealousy. His Gift was one that destroyed when destruction used to be the opposite of what he longed for. His Gift felt like a curse.
“I’m done” he stuttered.
With that, he sped away leaving Sanaa in a shroud of dust only to turn back around, pass by her, look out of his tinted window and nod. She sighed, stuck her sketchbook back into her tattered jeans and turned towards her truck. A smile crept across her face. This was only a beginning, she knew that, but as the smell of freshly drawn mangoes waft towards her with the breeze, the clouds retreat, the ever-bright sky returns, and hope is known again.
Yellow sun grazes Sanaa’s face. It is the sun that she longs for when it isn’t present. The sun that motivates and pushes her towards the truth. She wakes up. A yawn. A smile. She’s home. As Sanaa makes her way towards the kitchen, memories that live in her surroundings are forced towards her. Sanaa passes the crumbling windowsill that her pet parakeets flew out of when she was eight, the teal carpet that she tripped on when she was four, her grandmother’s bedroom door. Sanaa had made a routine of passing it but a soft whirring noise coming from inside drew her closer. Hesitantly she grips the tarnished door knob. It creaks as she twists it open to reveal a space that she would never imagine she’d find. The walls are lined with loud paintings in kaleidoscopic colours. The carpets are littered with paint brushes stiff with pigment. A basket of brand new spray paint cans call Sanaa to the center of the room. The aroma of fresh fruits make their way towards her and she looks up to find her grandmother’s graffitied handwriting dancing onto the only blank spot on the walls. It reads “Trust yourself, Sanaa”. The window that found itself open lets a whirring breeze escape through lacy curtains.
I am from the year round yellow sun that gifts warmth through the kitchen window.
I am from the rays that beat down on brown tile, and the house plants withered from time.
I am the bowl atop the counter, wooden and gnarled and filled with sweet smelling, sticky overripe mangoes that act as magnets to tiny floating slow moving dots.
I am the narrow hallway.
I am the room.
I am from the bed, never slept in, covered in an off-white tarp, stained with splotches of of rainbow coloured paint.
I am from hills of brushes stiff with pigment and the cans of empty spray paint that lay beside them.
I am the easels that live in the corners, the loud canvases that line the walls.
I am from Grandma Doris, Aunt Cindy, Uncle Martin. They live in gold frames above a colour stained mess with hopeful gazes and longings for something just out of reach.
Rest in peace.
They rest as reminders of the truth, as motivators, as catalysers for memories of bright Easters and light-filled days of the past…
I am from the birds that chirp,
From the old Bob Marley record that loops on a staticky stereo.
I am the breeze that leaves through lacy curtains.
I am from the stillness.
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