Fruits Basket Painting Novels & Stories

“You just made me redo my sky.” “You’re welcome,” she chirped. After an hour, Lily sat back, her hands covered in paint. “It’s done!” The painting was bright and full of color—yellow flowers, a soft blue sky, and a big bunny cloud floating above. “Grandma’s going to love this,” I said, smiling at them. “Can we sign our names?” Lily asked. “Of course,” I said, handing her a marker. She wrote her name in big, uneven letters. Jordan added his in smaller writing.

She did not know. She clung to Susan with a firm hand as they made their way through the winding streets, towards the market where all manner of sweets and decoration could still be had. Here were sprigs of holly, made fast into wreaths; and there the suet that formed the base of the plum pudding. But they stopped first amid the stalls where the vendors watched with hawk eyes, as sniggering folk wandered through large sacks and basins brimming with every sort of grain and dried pea that a mind could conjure.

They were just beginning to soften to perfect ripeness. By midday, our basket was heavy and overflowing with our harvest. We found a clearing where a large acacia tree spread its wide branches overhead. It cast cool shade across the grassy ground. Theo spread out a thick woven mat we had brought. We carefully emptied our basket onto a clean cloth. The vibrant colors of our find created a beautiful mosaic against the neutral fabric. We ate slowly, sharing pieces of sweet plum. We let the berry juice stain our lips. We cracked open the coconuts with a rock to drink their cool, refreshing water.

Kavan frowned, "What fruit have you foraged? I have made sure that everything within this forest would harm nothing." Fyn rolled his eyes. He probably only wanted the only thing harmful in this forest to be him, he thought. One of the Nǣps approached Kavan. It was carrying the same leaf basket that Kavan had used to wrap the fruits he gave to Fyn. Inside were tan-colored small circles. Fyn squinted his eyes and jolted in place once he realized just what it was. He knew it was familiar! Thinking of nothing else, he walked towards the basket and instinctively closed his nose.

Walking closer, Maria spotted round blueberries, glistening raspberries, and bright red strawberries. Crouching down on the ground, Maria set down her basket, plucking the fruits, and dropping them into her basket. Maria didn't want to fill her basket with only berries, so once she was satisfied with a certain amount, she picked up her basket and moved to a different location nearby.

“Papa A, draw what you see when you look at all of us.” The afternoon became a living portrait of their family. Canvases filled with overlapping figures, extra hands, hearts connected by ribbons, dragons guarding the edges. Mae’s own painting was enormous—a swirling garden scene with seven figures holding hands under the oak tree, each person a different bright color, all connected by golden threads. When they stepped back to look at the collection, Mae stood with paint on her nose and hands, beaming. “This is us. Not normal. Better.” After the feast—featuring Mae’s chosen menu of rainbow fruit platters, homemade pizza with ridiculous toppings, and a cake shaped like a multi-headed dragon— t

I shook my head, shocked by what he was saying to me. "Seriously?" He nodded before we went back into the second painting. I wondered why the hell he would be painting fruits, what was he going to use it for. However, when I had asked the question, he claimed that painting was his therapy and it made him so happy. I continued holding on to the bowel of fruits and after what felt like eternity, he was done with it. "Finally." I said, grabbing the apple and having a bite. He turned towards me with an angry look.

I just can't believe it looked like I never left. Grandma opened the cabinet filled with small baskets of fruits. Oranges, green apples, blue and black berries which I don't know where they get those, mangoes, guava which I haven't tasted that in my life, pineapple, dragon fruit which I wonder if Emilia Clarke the mother of dragons in Game Of Thrones planted those like how she raised her dragon offspring, kerson fruit berries and some fruit I never seen before. I looked around and recognized paintings with my signature. Paintings I threw last year. I wonder how these stuffs got here.

he forwarded the fruit basket to her. It was small and accumulated an apple, a bunch of grapes, two bananas and a few strawberries and black berries with a peeled sliced dragon fruit and several lychees. From every angle it appeared that the basket was properly organized with those fruits (that was because Alan bought it from the market) But he only put those fruits that can be stolen easily. He had to make it look like it was stolen after all!

Instead, my eyes landed directly on the large wooden table in the center of the living room. Sitting right there was a silly mountain of fresh berries, sliced melons, and rare honeyed plums—every single one of them my favorite childhood fruits. The basket was huge, wrapped in a simple white silk ribbon without a single card or name attached to it. But the scent of rain and old ash was faintly clinging to the wicker. It was an anonymous order from the royal kitchen, a weak, silent peace offering from a king who didn't know how to use his words.