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Illustrated Stories
Words and Pictures by Carolyn Marie Wellstead
*Click on the illustration to read the whole story*
"The Icicle"
Written and Illustrated by Carolyn Marie Wellstead
(Maiden Name: Castagna)
"The Icicle" Written and Illustrated by Carolyn Marie Castagna
I was only a few drops of icy water when I first fell and landed on the edge of their roof. As the crisp days went by, the longer I grew. Until I was long enough to see into a dimly lit room. The only light shining in was eight rectangles of sun separated by the window’s grille.
Facing me were two reading chairs. One was big and the color of the leaves in autumn; the other was smaller and the color of the leaves in spring. Between the two was a short round table, and on it were two cups of tea and a stack of three leather bound books. I noticed the floral china cup, which was closer to the small green chair, had an old lipstick stain on its rim. Although I was a distance away, it looked as if there was a thin layer of dust where it sat on the table. The ivory mug next to it was double the size, with a few yellow stripes painted around it. The mug was half full, but there were no warm vapors rising from it which usually accompany cups of tea. It must have been left there, forgotten by its drinker. Everything else in the room was drawn in a sheet of darkness.
The room stayed this way for two whole nights, until the third sunrise came. My icy tip was at its longest by this time. I had begun to feel lonely, when suddenly I heard the sound of tires on the road. A gray-haired man stepped out of a shiny black car, and with hunched shoulders he walked into the dark house by himself. At that moment, I wondered if he was lonely too. I lost sight of him then, until the light in the room switched on and lit up the two reading chairs. Slowly, he walked to the smaller chair. His heavy footsteps made the wooden floorboards creak, and it sounded like they were crying. He put a gentle hand on the small green chair and wept, like the creaking floor. Watery tears were gleaming on his face, resembling the icy droplets that made me. He leaned over, took the small cup with the lipstick stain in his hand, and held it to his chest. There was a small circle of dust left behind on the table. He angrily wiped the dust away as if it’s existence was hurtful.
“I always teased her for dusting every morning,” he said to the emptiness. “You see? This is why you shouldn’t have left. Who am I going to tease now?” A smile spread across his face, and I wondered how humans could do that. How do they smile while crying?
Then, we both heard the front door bang shut. He quickly wiped at his eyes and put the cup back where it had been.
A series of quick footsteps were heard coming from the nearby hall. In a fit of giggles, a little red haired girl ran into the room. She raced around the chairs and wrapped her little arms around the thin legs of the gray-haired man. He smiled down at her, lifting her up and into his arms. She nestled her curly head into his neck. At that moment, I wondered what it must feel like to be held in a warm embrace. I wished that one day I would find out.
The sun, and their love, made me weep, leaving me slightly thinner and shorter than before. I looked down to see how much time I had until there was nothing left of me at all. When I returned my gaze to the room, I was shocked to find the gray-haired man looking directly at me. He tapped the little girl's shoulder and whispered, “Do you know what your granny and I used to do each winter?”
She shook her red ringlets in reply.
“We used to collect icicles.”
“Don’t they melt Grandad?” The little girl asked.
“Not if you keep them in an ice chest,” he grinned.
She tilted her head in confusion, “Why did you and Granny do that?”
He was quiet for a few seconds, then replied, “I don’t remember why exactly. I just remember it was something she always loved doing, so naturally I loved doing it too.”
“Why?” She asked again.
“Because I loved your granny.”
“I loved her too.”
“I know, Sweetheart.”
She nestled her head back into the crook of his neck. Then, a second later she turned and looked at me, “Can we still collect icicles for granny?”
“Of course we can, Sweetheart. I think she’d like that very much.”
I knew they were speaking of Granny, but for some reason I felt as if I were the “she” they were referring to. The one that would “like that,” to be collected, “very much.”
Humans seem to collect many things, books, tea cups, reading chairs. The one that puzzles me is why they collect other humans. Before I could finish this thought, I felt a little hand hold me tight. It was the warm embrace I had wished for, and I was happy to no longer be alone.
I left a trail of rainy tears as they carried me into their home, for it was then that I realized why humans collect other humans. Love, it was all for love.
Facing me were two reading chairs. One was big and the color of the leaves in autumn; the other was smaller and the color of the leaves in spring. Between the two was a short round table, and on it were two cups of tea and a stack of three leather bound books. I noticed the floral china cup, which was closer to the small green chair, had an old lipstick stain on its rim. Although I was a distance away, it looked as if there was a thin layer of dust where it sat on the table. The ivory mug next to it was double the size, with a few yellow stripes painted around it. The mug was half full, but there were no warm vapors rising from it which usually accompany cups of tea. It must have been left there, forgotten by its drinker. Everything else in the room was drawn in a sheet of darkness.
The room stayed this way for two whole nights, until the third sunrise came. My icy tip was at its longest by this time. I had begun to feel lonely, when suddenly I heard the sound of tires on the road. A gray-haired man stepped out of a shiny black car, and with hunched shoulders he walked into the dark house by himself. At that moment, I wondered if he was lonely too. I lost sight of him then, until the light in the room switched on and lit up the two reading chairs. Slowly, he walked to the smaller chair. His heavy footsteps made the wooden floorboards creak, and it sounded like they were crying. He put a gentle hand on the small green chair and wept, like the creaking floor. Watery tears were gleaming on his face, resembling the icy droplets that made me. He leaned over, took the small cup with the lipstick stain in his hand, and held it to his chest. There was a small circle of dust left behind on the table. He angrily wiped the dust away as if it’s existence was hurtful.
“I always teased her for dusting every morning,” he said to the emptiness. “You see? This is why you shouldn’t have left. Who am I going to tease now?” A smile spread across his face, and I wondered how humans could do that. How do they smile while crying?
Then, we both heard the front door bang shut. He quickly wiped at his eyes and put the cup back where it had been.
A series of quick footsteps were heard coming from the nearby hall. In a fit of giggles, a little red haired girl ran into the room. She raced around the chairs and wrapped her little arms around the thin legs of the gray-haired man. He smiled down at her, lifting her up and into his arms. She nestled her curly head into his neck. At that moment, I wondered what it must feel like to be held in a warm embrace. I wished that one day I would find out.
The sun, and their love, made me weep, leaving me slightly thinner and shorter than before. I looked down to see how much time I had until there was nothing left of me at all. When I returned my gaze to the room, I was shocked to find the gray-haired man looking directly at me. He tapped the little girl's shoulder and whispered, “Do you know what your granny and I used to do each winter?”
She shook her red ringlets in reply.
“We used to collect icicles.”
“Don’t they melt Grandad?” The little girl asked.
“Not if you keep them in an ice chest,” he grinned.
She tilted her head in confusion, “Why did you and Granny do that?”
He was quiet for a few seconds, then replied, “I don’t remember why exactly. I just remember it was something she always loved doing, so naturally I loved doing it too.”
“Why?” She asked again.
“Because I loved your granny.”
“I loved her too.”
“I know, Sweetheart.”
She nestled her head back into the crook of his neck. Then, a second later she turned and looked at me, “Can we still collect icicles for granny?”
“Of course we can, Sweetheart. I think she’d like that very much.”
I knew they were speaking of Granny, but for some reason I felt as if I were the “she” they were referring to. The one that would “like that,” to be collected, “very much.”
Humans seem to collect many things, books, tea cups, reading chairs. The one that puzzles me is why they collect other humans. Before I could finish this thought, I felt a little hand hold me tight. It was the warm embrace I had wished for, and I was happy to no longer be alone.
I left a trail of rainy tears as they carried me into their home, for it was then that I realized why humans collect other humans. Love, it was all for love.
In this video you can listen to me narrate my story of "The Icicle" and watch the whole process as it comes to life while I draw.
"The Icicle" on Goodreads
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