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Thomas Moore picked up the charcoal and studied the blank canvas. Slowly, as was his custom, he closed his eyes and traced a rough outline on the canvas with his finger. In time the finger was replaced with the pencil, his eyes opened, and an image flowed onto the whiteness with slow deliberation.
When the image was complete, and Thomas always knew when his art was truly finished, he sat back and looked at it. It was, he was sure, the best portrait he'd ever done.
Problem was, there was no model posing for this portrait. He'd simply dreamed her last night, a pretty young lady sitting on a park bench, watching the birds and children and the clouds passing over head. Silent, she was completely silent in his dream though he could hear the singing of the birds and the laughter of the children. His young lady just sat and stared, trying to take it all in, not wanting to miss a single detail.
Thomas had never seen her before, had no idea how she'd come to be the main focus of his dream. Staring at the completed portrait, he realized that she had also become the main focus of his heart.
His heart.
His weak, unhealthy heart.
A silent tear trekked down Thomas's face, a heartbroken tear because he knew he'd never get to meet this unknown lady of his dreams because he wasn't going to live long enough. There was no transplant for him, the doctors had said, because he was simply not strong enough to wait...
~+~
Monica sat in the park, trying to look at everything at once, not wanting to miss a single moment of such a beautiful day. The colors of the grass and sky were amazing, the laughing faces of children overwhelmingly wonderful. She could see. For the first time since an accident nine years previously, she could see.
Tears brimmed her eyes as she turned to her companion. "Mrs. Moore, I can see the clouds, I can see the trees, I can see the water fountain and children and dogs and frisbees. I can even see myself in the mirror."
Mrs. Moore took her hand and squeezed it. "Yes, dear, and we're so thankful that the surgery worked. Thomas was so giving, and he wanted whoever could use his organs to have them. I'm very happy they were given to such a caring woman as yourself."
"How can I ever thank you, Mrs. Moore?"
Mrs. Moore picked up a wrapped package beside her and handed it to Monica. "My son, Thomas, wanted whoever received his eyes to have this portrait. It was his last, and it's never been seen by anyone, not even me. He wrapped it himself." She handed the portrait to Monica, and watched as the young woman unwrapped it.
"Oh my god," said Monica when the last of the wrapping fell away. "It's... oh my god, it's... it's me..."
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