Creativity and Suffering

A flash fiction piece exploring love, loss, and the transformative power of creativity.

Grace felt a deep, painful emptiness as morning light seeped into her kitchen.

She’d buried her mother only weeks earlier. Now, in this quiet space, she could hear her mother’s laughter echoing like an old tune woven into her memories. The tune faded, giving way to a deep weight pressing upon her chest.

On the counter, a bowl of overripe bananas sat ignored, their bright yellow skin now spotted with brown. Today, they were harbingers of loss, reminders that time shifts and cedes nothing to grief.

In a corner, an empty dog bed sat where Katy, her black Labrador retriever, once slept soundly. Her leaving had opened up a hole in her heart she could not understand. Only a week ago, they’d spent lazy afternoons together, her big brown eyes sparkling with unconditional love. Now, Katy’s devotion was a wraith, haunting her with the specter of wagging tails and joyous barking.

One corner housed an aged, dry easel, brushes, and palette. Grace seized a paintbrush, whose bristles were stiff from dried-on paint. It had been years since she’d painted; her artistic impulse buried under the weight of duties.

Now, something stirred within her. Was it the enormous need to communicate without speaking?

“Because things matter to us, we suffer,” she murmured. She’d recently read an article about grief and suffering. Those words echoed in her head like a repeating drumbeat.

She washed her brushes and loaded one with a bright blue that reminded her of wide open skies, summer, laughter with her mother, walks with Katy through sun-dappled woods.

As she stroked the canvas, a flood of emotion poured out; each brush stroke was a desperate effort to turn sadness into something beautiful. The colours spiralled upwards and then danced across the canvas's surface, reflecting her agitated emotions.

Stroke by stroke, she made her bid for release: paying homage to the ones she lost, making a place for them and holding them close.

She lost track of time. When she came out of her trance, she saw a profusion of blooms reaching upward toward the sun, as if it shone just for them. Among the blooms sat a black dog with its nose in the air, and a silly look on its face.

As she looked around the quiet kitchen littered with fragments of all their lives, Grace realized her heart would always have room for those she loved.

Through painting, she’d found a bridge, a route through her grief that would keep the spirits of her lost loved ones alive. In her own sorrow, she’d found a route toward healing, a means to honor her love.

Author's Note

My flash fiction was inspired by recent personal events and by a friend asking me to join her in an art class.

I have a confession: I've been leaning a lot on my older poems and prose that I wrote months and even years ago. It's been nice to revisit those feelings and the words I created back then. Honestly, I found it a bit easier to share those pieces rather than starting something fresh. I struggled. The past month was a breakthrough of sorts. I actually wrote some new pieces! So you'll get to see a mix of both old and new work from me moving forward, which I'm really excited about.

Also, I’ve decided to be a little kinder to myself this October. Instead of focusing on writing poetry or prose, I’m planning to introduce some amazing guest authors. Stay tuned for more on that—I can’t wait to share it with you!

Upcoming…

• A poem about hope:

  Tomorrow and Tomorrow, 27 September 2025

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