Categories > Celebrities > 30 Seconds to Mars > These Immortal Streets
Chapter Thirteen
Flashback
The day was beyond cold, the weather was terrible and he couldn’t help but feel locked inside his own house. His easel was lonely in the corner of his room and the curtains were closed over the window panes. He pulled the blanket over himself and Miranda, the wind passing over his skin even beneath the thick material. He let out a long sigh and looked down at her beautiful face. So innocent, and peaceful despite the cold surrounding her. She did shiver in her father’s arms but she was at rest and he was glad for that.
He looked over at the canvas and saw his daughter’s face painted there almost perfectly depicted. He felt a warmth fill him as he felt his love for her press him onward in this life. He didn’t want to get up, work for a little bit of money, but he knew that his work was what would keep her alive and so he found all the drive he needed.
He sat up and bundled her up in the blankets by herself before getting up off the bed. He pushed his hand back through his hair and walked to the window. Pushing the curtains back he saw the rain fell like it was a blessing and the wind could be seen almost like it was frozen. He could see himself in the window pane and took a sharp intake of breath. His face was almost hollow, his blue eyes were less than radiant, and his hair was matted down without life. His life ever since his father had died had spiraled downward without anything to help him prosper. He had tried to make a perfect life for Miranda but he knew that he had failed terribly. He needed his wife again, his beautiful wife who had died not too long ago. He tried not to grieve too much, tried not to think of her as gone but rather that she was somewhere better than this horrible world. He had so much to live for after all with his beautiful daughter. Hopelessness did take a hold of him often but he knew he just had to press on.
He closed the curtains again and turned back to the bed where Miranda was still laying there awake. He smiled a little to himself and pulled on his jacket around him protecting him against the horrid cold that seeped through the glass. He sat at his easel and passed time filling in the details on the canvas. Finally he turned around and saw that Miranda was moving a little on the bed. He stood up and moved to the bed looking down at her wide eyes. She had his blue eyes but everything else had come from her mother.
Carefully he reached down and took her up in his arms, holding her close against his chest. Something like worry sparked inside of him though when he felt how feverish she felt. He swallowed harshly and laid her back on the bed checking every part of her small body. Everywhere it was like she was burning up and he felt a panic shoot through him. He gathered her up again and rushed out of the room needing to find somebody that could help him.
Flashback
The day was beyond cold, the weather was terrible and he couldn’t help but feel locked inside his own house. His easel was lonely in the corner of his room and the curtains were closed over the window panes. He pulled the blanket over himself and Miranda, the wind passing over his skin even beneath the thick material. He let out a long sigh and looked down at her beautiful face. So innocent, and peaceful despite the cold surrounding her. She did shiver in her father’s arms but she was at rest and he was glad for that.
He looked over at the canvas and saw his daughter’s face painted there almost perfectly depicted. He felt a warmth fill him as he felt his love for her press him onward in this life. He didn’t want to get up, work for a little bit of money, but he knew that his work was what would keep her alive and so he found all the drive he needed.
He sat up and bundled her up in the blankets by herself before getting up off the bed. He pushed his hand back through his hair and walked to the window. Pushing the curtains back he saw the rain fell like it was a blessing and the wind could be seen almost like it was frozen. He could see himself in the window pane and took a sharp intake of breath. His face was almost hollow, his blue eyes were less than radiant, and his hair was matted down without life. His life ever since his father had died had spiraled downward without anything to help him prosper. He had tried to make a perfect life for Miranda but he knew that he had failed terribly. He needed his wife again, his beautiful wife who had died not too long ago. He tried not to grieve too much, tried not to think of her as gone but rather that she was somewhere better than this horrible world. He had so much to live for after all with his beautiful daughter. Hopelessness did take a hold of him often but he knew he just had to press on.
He closed the curtains again and turned back to the bed where Miranda was still laying there awake. He smiled a little to himself and pulled on his jacket around him protecting him against the horrid cold that seeped through the glass. He sat at his easel and passed time filling in the details on the canvas. Finally he turned around and saw that Miranda was moving a little on the bed. He stood up and moved to the bed looking down at her wide eyes. She had his blue eyes but everything else had come from her mother.
Carefully he reached down and took her up in his arms, holding her close against his chest. Something like worry sparked inside of him though when he felt how feverish she felt. He swallowed harshly and laid her back on the bed checking every part of her small body. Everywhere it was like she was burning up and he felt a panic shoot through him. He gathered her up again and rushed out of the room needing to find somebody that could help him.
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