“How are you feeling today Jack?”

“Tired, Dr. Calahan. Frustrated,” Jack replied as he sat up in his bed.

“I imagine being stuck in a bed for an athletic man such as yourself must be akin to torture.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be, at least, I wouldn’t say it’s torture. I just wish I could be awake more often so that I can paint more. The other doctor said it wouldn’t be surprising if I started experiencing gaps in my memory, and I want to hold onto whatever I can, even if the best I can do is paint what I can remember.”

“Well, if you’d like, Jack, we can leave some more materials here for you.”

“That’d be great, thank you Dr. Calahan.”

“I’ll place the order during my lunch break. It’s good to hear that you aren’t experiencing any complications. Remember to call a nurse over if you need anything. How’s your current nurse treating you?”

“Quite wonderfully, of course. Who wouldn’t want to stay in bed all day while their wife attended to their every need. It’s a dream come true doctor.”

There was a moment of silence. It wasn’t short, but it was perhaps a beat too long. Jack didn’t seem to have noticed, but it could have been that he just didn’t care. In that sense, it didn’t matter.

“We’ll continue to assign her hours to your ward then. I’ll see you again tomorrow then.”

“Thank you doctor, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jack laid back down in his bed, fatigue washing over him. Dr. Calahan walked out of the ward, but held the door open as a nurse took his place.

“Hey beautiful.”

The nurse’s lips curved upwards in a smile, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. No, the only thing occupying her eyes was pity, but Jack didn’t seem to notice.

“I think it’s about time I go to sleep, see you again tomorrow.”

Jack closed his eyes, the muscles in his face relaxing into a serene smile.

The nurse walked over to an armchair sofa and made herself comfortable. It wasn’t long before the quiet sound of subtle snores whistled through the air, and it would be an even shorter time before Jack sat up in his bed. 

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

~

It was difficult, at first-- the adjusting process. Can’t use my legs anymore, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever. My wife happily tended to my needs and I didn’t need to do any chores around the house anymore. The doctors said that I’d be experiencing gaps in my memory, a prospect that terrified me, but I’ve since come to terms with the fear. Now I spend my waking moments putting my memories on canvas so that I’d have something to pass down to my kids. The doctors sent me home with a stay at home nurse, but she seemed to have left not too long afterwards. I figured the hospital only had her escort me home and prepare some accommodations before coming back. My wife told me that the kids were staying with their grandparents, something about not wanting them to see me like this, which I understand completely.

I seem to be sleeping much more than before, probably the biggest indicator that I’m still in recovery. My room is full of paintings, more than I thought there’d be, but all of them are important. All of them, my legacy. My passing won’t leave them in want, but I want them to remember me by more than just material goods. There is more to me than my wealth, a life and a story worth more than my success. I don’t feel like I have much time left as it’s gotten harder to get up when I’m awake, and my medication dosages have increased. 

But I have just enough time left. I just need to finish one last painting, the culmination of my legacy. Just a handful of brushstrokes, just one last inspiration. 

“Clara,” I yelled. I wanted her here. It would be her, my last bout of inspiration. A portrait of my wife that I’d been working on for a week. This would be it.

Clara walked into the room, and I had her sit beside me, her face lit up by the morning sun. I picked up my brush and stared at her face. I lost track of the time, but by the end of a few hours, the portrait was complete. My beautiful Clara. I laid down on my bed, a wave of fatigue washing over me. I closed my eyes, the painting of my Clara held firmly in my hands. 

~

I woke to the sound of clattering wood. Clara must have carelessly knocked one of the paintings off the wall. 

“Clara, do be a dear and fetch me a brush and some paint. I think I’m just about finished with this portrait.”

The portrait was finished of course, but I wanted to surprise her.

She turned around and as my eyes met her, the smile on my lips faded. 

“You’re not Clara.”

The woman’s lips were curled into a smile, a familiar smile-- one that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“No Mr. Lampir, I’m your nurse, Jannine. I’ve been tending to you since the accident.”

“No no no, you were sent home. Clara’s the one that’s been helping me. Where’s Clara?”

“Mr. Lampir... Do you remember the accident? You were the only one they were able to save.”

“NO, Clara’s been helping me while the kids stayed at my parents’ place.”

“Mr. Lampir, both your wife and your children were cremated just last week. You gave a moving eulogy at the funeral.”

“That was…”

Mr. Lampir grabbed the painting he had hidden by his bedside. He stared at the familiar face staring back at him: a woman in her mid forties dressed in a nurse’s garb-- her hair tied back in a bun. It was a portrait of Clara, but it wasn’t. 

He stared at the paintings adorning his room. He had painted scenes from his childhood, aiming to preserve his memories on canvas, but as he looked around there was nothing of the sort. Strokes of dark red and bright orange brought to life charred bodies and roaring flames. The acrid odor of burnt hair filled his nostrils, and a sharp pain shot up his thigh. 

Jack Lampir gasped for air, he clawed at his throat before his eyes rolled up and his arms fell limp by his side.

Jannine rushed to Jack’s bedside and dressed the scratches on his neck. She tidied up his bed and helped him settle into a more comfortable position. 

Jack’s eyes fluttered open, a vague emptiness behind the luster of his eyes.

“Good morning beautiful, always a lovely surprise to wake up to you by my side. I have a gift for you, I didn’t think I’d have it ready so soon, it’s almost like I paint even when I’m asleep hahaha,” Jack piped up with a beaming smile on his face while showing the painting he still grasped in his hands.

Jack placed the portrait in Jannine’s hands, thrilled at the prospect of immortalizing his wife’s figure.

“Now then, what do you think I should try painting next? Do you remember that trip to the southern seas, how stunning the ocean was! That’ll be the next one, with you and the kids looking out into the ocean while visiting the lighthouse,” Jack jabbered, grabbing his tools and a blank canvas.

Jannine watched as he went to work, the familiar shades of red and black once again coming to life. Jack looked up at Jannine and smiled. Jannine smiled back, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.