He spent two days painting the town he had recreated, turning each roof into a rainbow for Elyza. Each time he did so, fresh tears rolled down his cheeks until the end of the first day, when he realized they had stopped coming. They had really dried up, as had his mouth. He knew that was a result of the disease.
By the end of the fourth day, his shoulders had turned black, and the disease was slowly spreading across his chest. Black tendrils crisscrossed over his chest and back. He knew he would be dead by the end of the next day–once the infection spread to his heart. That was what the doctors had told him, anyway.
He fell asleep across the street from the wreckage of his home, resting his head on his knees like he had that first night. He woke up with an incredibly sore neck and his tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth. His alchemy could only do so much to relieve the symptoms.
It didn’t matter though–today is his last day. He lets that realization wash over him for a moment before he stands, brushing the dirt off his pants.
He walks up to the wreckage, staring at it for a moment before kneeling down and picking up a small fragment of wood. It crumbled beneath his fingers, as the bone had, and fell to the ground as a small pile of black ashes. He watched them fly away in the wind for a brief moment before standing.
The base of his neck had turned black, the infection tainting his collarbone. The black filaments climbed up his throat, stretching beneath his chin. By the end of the day, they would be slowly climbing up his face at the same time as they reached his heart.
He felt no fear. Death was not a punishment, it was not something to be feared. To him, it was a way out he would gladly take. It was a way to escape the pain he had been inflicted by the wretched bomb.
He placed all his fingers together for the last time. “Fildronsa.” he whispered before stomping his foot. A normal broom appeared before him, slowly falling onto his shoulder. He held it with both his shaking hands, gripping the wooden handle as tight as his weak fingers would allow.
He stepped over the remains of that fence that used to stand proudly around his house, and took a deep breath before beginning to sweep up the fragments and ashes. Tears fell from his face, dropping into the mess below.
It took an hour of long, grueling work to totally sweep up the wreckage. He had to pick up and move some of the larger, heavy pieces of wood, exerting more force and energy than he possessed.
He shivered in the cold wind as he stepped back, tossed the broom into the pile, and croaked “Trestenka Orwe.” Everything disappeared in an instant.
He closed his tired eyes and imagined his old house. He imagined the stone porch with the mahogany door and the large, stained glass window. He pictured the fancy numbers that stated his address and the large, open window to the right of those numbers.
He pictured the bright entryway that led into the open-floored living room. On the left, the room branched off into the dining room and the kitchen while stairs on the right side, behind the large red couch, led upstairs. A long hallway followed the landing, with two doors on each side. On the right was his room, right next to his sister’s. On the left was the master bedroom and a small bathroom he and Elyza shared. At the very end of the hallway was an office, which his mother had used on a daily basis.
As he pictured all these rooms, he whispered a quick flurry of spells that made them reappear. He even took the time to recreate the furniture in each room, choosing to give them colors, unlike the blank outside of the house.
He wobbled slightly as he finished his spells and let his hands drop to his side. A headache pounded at his temples, making the edges of his vision blur.
The disease was really taking its toll on him now. He could barely feel his hands and feet– only a slight buzzing sensation that told him they were still there. His arms and legs felt the same way, to a lesser extent. Each breath sent a painful shock wave through his chest. Every time he closed his eyes he wondered if he would be able to open them. He didn’t dare sit down because he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back up.
He took a step closer to the house, and nearly lost his balance. He managed to catch himself on the purple mailbox, but just barely.
“Cteny.” he whispered, making a cane appear in his other hand. He leaned against it heavily as he walked to the new house, brandishing his paintbrush as he stood on the recreated porch.
First violet, then indigo stripes appeared on the house, wide and even. They were followed by blue, green yellow, orange, and finally red at the very top. He stood on the small platform he had created, holding the cane in his left hand as he finished the final spot on the front of the house.
It was then that the cane slipped on the edge of the transparent glass platform. He fell with it, tumbling sideways and hitting the ground on his back. The impact of his head on the cement sent stars flying across his vision, followed by the midnight sky they stood in.