**This writing is a part of my Abydos Writing Workshop that I am currently enrolled in!
A Vase of Flowers (Contour Drawing)
They sit there, in front of my eyes in the center of the table. A vase of flowers filled with freshly plucked lilac-colored amaryllis that I gathered from my backyard flower bed this morning. They bask in the rays of the sun that shine through the window of the den and spotlight the vase sitting on the table.
Sitting in a half-full translucent vase of water, the flowers overlook the scenery of which they were sat upon. As I gaze at the contour of my drawing; a story emerges...
A girl lies in bed asleep, her breathing heavy labored, and slow with an occasional deep cough. She is covered with a thick, quilted blanket, her mind is far gone into the world of dreams, where she dreams of being awake and awaken in her dreams. The room is in silence except for the small ticking sound coming from the clock that hangs on the wall above her bed and the dripping sound coming from inside the tube that connects the girl to her life and all that she depends on. Her life before the dreaded virus struck her fragile body and put it into a downward spiral.
The vase of flowers, they are a symbol of innocence, of first love, and they serve as a reminder of the boy who lives at the end of the street.
Days pass, the clock ticks. There is a heavy atmosphere in the room. All is quiet, the quarantine allows no one to help pass the time away. Solitude - deafening silence. It is strangling the life out of the flowers. The flowers yearn for the outdoors. They have grown to be free. Their petals are dry, their leaves hang limply from their stems. They try to hang on. When the girl awakes, the flowers want to be there because they want to remind her.
It was a rainy day for the last day in the month of July in 2020. The small girl shifted in the bed uneasily but drew in a deep, deep breath. This was unusual. Her breaths had recently been so choppy, labored, and sporadic. This breath was different. The flowers waited for the next one but were greeted with a wall of silence. Then suddenly, another deep, relaxed breathing rose and exited from the girl's healing lungs. Each brittle petal, discolored leaf, and decaying stem rejoiced. The flowers then allowed nature to take its course. The flowers would wither and shrivel up into nothingness but the girl's future would be different. Her future held hope and happiness. A future that would be bright and full of new days to come.
My contour drawing of the vase of flowers. This was a strategy for writing from a contour drawing.
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