“I can’t give you a final grade if you don't finish this assignment, Laura. Rules are rules.”

Ms. Crimp, my art teacher, is setting me up for failure. I was given three weeks to paint a mural, but it's due tomorrow, and I haven't started. Technically, this is my fault, but three weeks is not nearly enough time. I’d be more satisfied if it were twice as much. Maybe three.

“Are you sure I can’t have another week or something?”

She sighs, walking back to her desk. “Listen, Laura. You are such a talented artist, but I’m afraid you aren’t taking this seriously. I’ve given you several opportunities to work on this project and come to me with any questions, and you haven’t even started? I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous… what exactly have you been doing in my class?”

“I’ve been working! Honest! I just… can’t seem to put what’s in my head on paper. I’m sorry…” 

“Sorry won’t do it, Laura.” She huffs and sits down, tapping a paintbrush against her head. “48 hours.”

“What?”

“I’m extending your time to work on this project. Two days is all I’m willing to spare because this really isn’t fair to the other students who have worked their butts off for this assignment.” She sighs. “If you don’t have it done by Friday, I’ll consider failing you.”

I nod my head.

“Good. Now get out of my classroom.”

I smile and quickly pack up my bag, cramming whatever art supplies I could find. I race out of the room, making my way to the school exit. As I step outside, I get a glimpse of my surroundings. I stop and pause. I check my watch.

“5:45,” it read. 

No wonder Ms. Crimp wanted me out. School ended almost two hours ago…

The walk to my car is long, dark, and suspenseful, as my high school just so happens to be across the street from a sketchy neighborhood. Not so much of a problem during the day, but at night, nothing is clear, and any hint of noise is no less than eerie. 

“How was school today?” 

My mom greets me with a hug. 

“I didn’t realize you had to stay after school, I had to make arrangements to pick up your brother.”

“Sorry, mom. I had a conference with Ms. Crimp. What’s for dinner?”

“Uh… I think it is some kind of cream pasta. Your dad found one of Grandma’s recipes in the attic. That reminds me, we have several boxes of Grandpa's stuff up there, feel free to have a look.”

I sit down, analyzing the food laid out before me. The dish looks like alfredo pasta, but it has a zest that confuses me even more. 

“Ah, here it is,” my mom said, pulling out a recipe from a kitchen drawer. 

“Lemon Ricotta pasta. I think I may have messed up the recipe a little, it looks a lot creamier than the picture. I thought it was good.” 

I twirl my pasta, and I take a bite. 

“Hm… it's got an interesting flavor. The ricotta overpowers the lemon zest, which is funny because you’d think it would be the other way around.”

“Glad you like it. So, what did you say you were staying for? A conference? With Ms. Crimp? Did she insult your art again?”

“It’s called critiquing, Mom. And no, we were discussing my mural project.”

My mom walks over and pulls up a chair.

“Are you having any problems? I know you don’t do well under pressure. How much time were you given to work on it? Has to be like a week, right?

“Three weeks… but she gave me two extra days. The due date is Friday.”

My mom furrows her brow. 

“Laura, honey. If you have had all this time, why haven’t you started yet? I remember you telling me this was your final project. 

“I know!” I say defeated. “I just… can’t seem to be inspired enough to make anything. I need something interesting to happen so that I can feel motivated to make something perfect. 

Walking over to my chair, my mom hugs me from behind. 

“I understand, sweetie.” She kisses the top of my head. “How about you look at Grandpa’s old things, huh? Maybe you’ll find something interesting up there.”

I slowly creak the attic door open, peering inside. I can barely make out anything, and I’m just praying there aren't any live creatures. The crawl into the attic isn’t too bad, though some upper body strength was required. I turn on my phone’s flashlight and look where supposedly Grandpa’s old stuff is. I push through mountains of cardboard until I find a box with “Dad” written on it. This must be it. I crouch down by it, and I open it. Inside were trinkets that my grandpa used to have lying around his house, such as family portraits and little pictures of birds he used to hang up all over his walls. I started to feel sentimental as I pulled out more things, and my mind was flooded with old memories and special moments that I held close to my heart. As I reached the bottom, I found some of his paintings. My grandfather always admired nature, depicting different landscapes, plants, and animals in almost every piece. He was so full of inspiration, and realizing that made my eyes swell with tears. 

How could I not? I’m not just crying because I miss him, but because I feel a sense of guilt that I am disappointing him. He always encouraged me to pursue art, with the dream that I would do something amazing with my talent. I feel that I failed him. Instead of a passion, it feels more like a chore. Something I must do, not something I desire. I continue pulling out more sketches out of the box until I reach the bottom. The last thing I found was a dusty, flat paintbrush. I examined it closely. Surprisingly, after wiping all the dust and dirt off, the brush was in excellent condition. It was like it had never been touched before. I smile a little, thinking about how I was holding the very thing that created so many beautiful pieces of art. I decided to put everything back in the box except the paintbrush. 

I pull out a large pad of paper. I hadn’t touched it in a long time, but suddenly, I felt that it was the right time to use it. I take out my watercolors. Purple, green, and blue were my grandpa’s favorite colors. I dip the brush into the cool water, and I begin to paint. I close my eyes, imagining all the moments I shared painting with my grandpa. I found myself getting lost in my thoughts, and with each stroke, I felt like I was closer to him. I open my eyes. 

The ocean was glistening, and I saw the most beautiful sunset of my life. Birds flew in flocks over the scenery. It was incredible. It suddenly hit me that I was not imagining any of this and that I was really at the beach. 

“Hello there!”

I turned around to see a short, friendly-looking man. He was an older gentleman with a long white beard and a pudgy figure. 

“Oh, hi! This might seem strange, but I’m not really sure where I am. However, this all looks so familiar. You also look very familiar… have we met before?”

The short man chuckles.

“Why Laura, we’ve been waiting for you for a long time now! Glad you could make it! This is Aurora Isle, a land of peace and beauty.”

“Aurora? That was my grandma’s name. Wait, how do you know my name?”

He chuckles again, patting my back.

“Oh, sweet Laura, this land was named after your grandmother. She was such a kind woman — haha — and an excellent cook, too.”

I make a puzzled expression.

“Huh? Named after my grandmother? What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I guess I’ll leave this short. This might sound alarming, but your grandfather created this world. That’s why it's named after Aurora and why you recognize me and this place. Look over here.”

He points to a group of sea turtles. I immediately recognized them. 

“Are those… mine? I painted those?”

The short man nods. 

“Yes, Laura. Even some of your creations are here. And that is why I summoned you here. We are in desperate need of your help.”

I notice his expression drop from a kind smile to something more serious. 

“This island is fading away. His passion for art helped us survive, and it kept this land colorful. Ever since your dear grandpa passed, the trees have turned gray, and there are fewer and fewer animals.”

He looks at the paintbrush in my hand. 

“Since you found what created us, we need you to use it to help restore this mural. Can you help us?

I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been told to do something so urgent, and I begin to feel fear rise up in me. 

“I don’t know… how can I stop it with this paintbrush? That sounds impossible.”

Out of nowhere, a giant black puddle forms under the short man. He frowns. 

“Now listen closely, sweetheart. You must go to the center of this Isle, where you must find the cause for your grandpa’s inspiration.”

He starts to sink into the puddle, almost like he's being washed away.

“Just trust yourself, and you’ll know what to do, okay? I know you’ll do great. Now go now! Before this puddle grows larger and consumes the whole island.”

Before I can say anything, the short man disappears into the puddle. I start to panic, but after a while I am able to collect myself. I have to save my grandpa’s artwork. 

There are several signs that lead me to the path that goes to the center of the Isle. On the way, I noticed several different sceneries, all being paintings that were based on all the places my grandpa visited. Could location be his biggest inspiration? I walk some more, and I pass by a field of cats. As I look closer, I notice they are all the same cat. It was Oliver, my grandpa's cat. He passed away a few months before my grandpa died. He was like a best friend to him. Maybe he was my grandpa’s biggest inspiration? He did paint the cat quite a bit. Even though he wasn't the main subject of a painting, my grandpa would always find a way to incorporate him somehow. Almost like a trademark in his paintings. 

After a lengthy walk through different parts of the mural, I finally reached the center. However, there was nothing there. How could that be? The short old man said I’d find something here that would help. Is this not the center? After a while of looking around, I crumble to the floor, and I begin to weep. I really must be disappointing my grandpa. Even in a crisis, I can’t even think of what to do to help. All his artwork will vanish because of me. 

Through my tears, I notice something. The paintbrush — it was glowing. It became brighter by the second. What was happening? Is it going to explode? The paintbrush picked itself up and zoomed past me to the very center of the area. I quickly get up and race towards it. The light was so bright it was blinding, and I tried to get as close as I could to grab it. After a bit of a struggle, I was able to get a grasp on the paintbrush. Then, the world around me lit up. It was hard to make out anything, but I felt myself being lifted into the air. It was frightening but, at the same time, really cool. I suddenly drop to the ground. I glanced up, and there he was.

“Hi, Pumpkin!” He smiled. “How’ve you been?”

My eyes welled up with tears as I ran towards him.

“Papa, I’ve missed you so much.”

He hugged me tight, and after wiping away my tears, he crouched down next to me. 

“Now, why are you crying, Pumpkin? There ain’t nothing you should be sad about.”

“But Papa, your art… it's fading away. This funny-looking man told me I was the one to save it… but I don’t know what to do. I can’t think of anything, and there is nothing here to work with. I’m sorry Papa, I must be such a disappointment. ”

He hugs me again.

“Well, isn’t that a whole bunch of baloney! Pumpkin, you will never fail to make me proud. You might not be painting as much as you used to, but that’s okay! Hey, I didn’t paint for a year straight when your grandma died. Or heck, a month after Olie died. Trust me, I understand. But you are way too hard on yourself! It’s okay to take breaks. You can’t do the same thing over and over again. It loses its charm.”

“You can say that again, Ted.”

I look over my grandpa’s shoulder and there is the short man. 

“You’re alive? I thought you got swallowed by that giant puddle?”

The short man chuckles.

“I see you’ve met Steve,” said my grandpa. “[He] was always my favorite person to paint, he looks so much like a cartoon character… like one of those seven gnomes, or whatever they are called. Nice going, Steve, you ruined the surprise I had for my granddaughter. 

I look at the two men, even more puzzled.

“Surprise? What are you talking about—”

They both laugh together. My grandpa hugs my shoulder and turns me around. The mural is the brightest it's ever been, with so many new vibrant colors. 

“You see, Pumpkin? You did it! I told you that you were my biggest pride.”

“But, that doesn’t make sense… I didn’t even figure out what your greatest inspiration was.”

My grandpa takes the paintbrush from my hand and quickly paints a bench.

“Come, sit down. I lived a long life filled with inspiration. But nothing compares to the inspiration I felt when you came into my life. And I want you to remember that, okay?”

I smile proudly, trying to prevent myself from tearing up. 

“Now I have to send you back home now, okay? And remember, it doesn't matter what interests me or anyone else. Do what makes you happy.”

He hugs me one last time and kisses my forehead. 

I wake up, my mom peering over me. 

“Laura? Oh, thank goodness you’re okay. You really have to be careful with your cups, honey. You drank a whole cup of paint water. 

I slowly rise up off the ground. I smile. 

“Oh no… you are smiling funny. Should I call a doctor?”

I immediately hugged her. 

“Thanks, Mom, but I’ll be okay. It’s not like it was the first time.”

She sighs, helping me off the floor.

“I see you found Grandpa’s paintings, huh? Oh! And his favorite mural! Glad you found that one, I knew you’d find inspiration from it.”

She walks over to my desk and picks up the large sheet of paper.

“Oh wow, Laura, this is incredible. If Ms. Crimp doesn’t love it, then there is something seriously wrong with that woman.”

I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Thank you… I guess I did take some inspiration from some of Grandpa’s work. I tried to combine elements with my own little twist.”

“Oh, Laura,” my mom brings me into a hug. “He is so very proud of you.”

I hugged her back. 

“I know.”