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The Sun Drawing
Sun (English); sol (Spanish); soleil (French). All three words are for the same star. But, what would happen if that star fell? What if it plummeted into a planet, say Earth? What if it stopped shining? What if it stopped burning? We would all die. No one would survive. Instant darkness, instant death. What if it did something completely different? What if it burnt hotter, brighter all of a sudden? But, What if it just came closer?
Mary Lou Calvin was a young girl. She always dreamed of being an astronaut, just like her dad. Of course, being an eight-year old, she wasn’t taken seriously. Rather than just dream of being in the heavens above, she also drew them. She would use crayons and draw the planets. She would draw bright, shinning stars and sometimes add glitter to them.
Her ninth birthday came and she got what she had been asking for: a telescope. Her dad carried it to the porch and placed it down. “Look,” he said, “Jupiter’s out today.” The girl didn’t seem interested. Instead, she angled her new telescope to the North Star.
“It’s sooo bright,” she said, emphasizing the â€˜so’.
“What is? Oh, the North Star. Yup, it’s the brightest one up there.”
“What about the sun?”
“Fine, right now it’s the brightest one up there,” he admitted. They both giggled (even though the father didn’t see how it was funny).
“Time for bed, squirt,” her mother called from inside the house.
“But mom, can’t I stay up just a little longer?” asked Mary Lou, whining.
“Are you going to put the telescope away?” asked the mother.
“Well…alright. Five more minutes,” the mother said, giving in to her daughter’s request.
Five minutes passed and the young girl saw a total of three shooting stars. She didn’t sleep at all that night. She stayed up and drew her shooting stars. Then she had an idea, â€˜The sun.’ she thought, â€˜it’s such a bright and beautiful star. I’ll make it a shooting star. It’ll be even prettier.’ She got to work. Retrieving more paper from a draw near her closet and more yellow crayons.
Morning came and the weather man was on “Well, folks, it’s going to be a new record. One hundred and twenty-two degrees!” he said and his co-anchor whistled. Then the Mother turned off the television,
“That’s enough of that garbage,” she said. “Get ready for school, Mary Lou.”
“Yes, mom. Mom?”
“He had a call and had to go to work. He’ll be back tonight.” Just then, the phone rang. The mother picked it up, “Hello….Yes…I understand…Not a problem. Thank you,” she said and hung up the phone. “Well, you got lucky, squirt. There’s no school today.” Mary Lou finished her cereal and ran outside to play with her friends (who also didn’t have school.) She soon slowed down from her dash to a jog, then a walk, and finally a complete stop.
“Why’s it so hot?” She asked, calling back her mom.
“Just ignore it. It won’t bother you.” Well, the girl did as she was told. She played with her friends. Most of the time they were in the shade someplace.
People’s air-conditioning began to fail, burn out, and they got angry. Sometimes, they blamed their children, so they were being punished. That’s two generations of anger. Of course, the elderly. They paid their way into some very nice nursing homes. Those nursing homes advertised having air-conditioners for every room. But, they burnt out. The elderly were angry. Three generations of anger. Yes, it was One hundred and twenty-two degrees, but people felt like it was closer to one thousand.
They were desperate. They had to escape the heat. Adults crammed under trees and in basements. Any where that was cooler. The homes heated up from sitting in the sun. Windows and doors were kept open through out that night. When the people awoke, some of them found wild animals in their houses. They screamed. Mary Lou didn’t even have the energy to leave the house. “Carry me, mommy?”
“Carry yourself! Now, shut up!”
“Where’s dad?” Mary Lou said, trying to hold back tears.
“Who cares? He’s probably up in space somewhere eating ice-cream!”
“Can we get ice-cream?”
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” the mother screamed. The girl started crying. “I said, â€˜Shut up’!” and the girl just cried harder. The mother back-handed Mary Lou. She fell to the ground screaming and crying. “Listen to me! It’s only going to get hotter! Now, shut up!” But the girl didn’t shut up. The mother had enough. She ran out the door and into the sticky road. “The tar is melting,” she said to herself and burning tears came to her face. She looked up into the sky. She saw the sun. “I hate you! I hate you!” she yelled to the sun, “Why?” she yelled to it. “Why,” she whispered to herself and collapsed to the ground.
Meanwhile, Mary Lou was watching from a window. She saw her mother fall. She ran to her room to cry. Once there, she saw, hanging up on her wall, the picture of her shooting sun. She tore it down and ripped it to pieces. Suddenly, the world went dark. An unnatural, pitch-black, dark. She was cooled off. She felt like laughing and hugging her mom and her friends. Then, it wads cold, then icy. She tried to feel her hands, but couldn’t. She tried to make it to her mom, but stumbled over a toy chest. She laid there and froze.