"The Sky Painted"
There was a legend about the Painted Sky in the little community of Elmsbrook. Elders would tell children this tale while they looked up at the vivid hues of sunrise or sunset. It was supposed that the gods themselves had painted the sky many years ago. There was a catch, though: the hues of the sky were intended to be shared, a gift for everyone to enjoy. However, a self-centered artist by the name of Cael had stolen all the colors, kept them hidden in his studio, and painted only for his own pleasure. Ultimately, the sky became dark and lifeless as the gods punished him by removing the hues.
The sky would be painted again someday, according to the mythology, but only if a kindhearted person could figure out how to restore the hues. The story was considered legend by the peasants, who lived in calm resignation despite having heard it numerous times.
A little girl named Lila was sitting on a wooden bench outside the village's historic church one brisk autumn morning. She could not think of anything. She dreamed of adventure, believed in magic, and looked for a purpose beyond the mundane existence that lay ahead of her, just like every other child in Elmsbrook. Lila stood apart from the rest, though, for one reason. She was gifted at recognizing beauty where others could not.
That morning, the sky was a deep gray, a blank canvas that seemed to go on forever. Like every time, the town felt ensnared by its own tedium. However, Lila's vivid vision and limitless creativity allowed her to see what others missed: the dim outline of whirling hues in the sky, concealed and dimly glimmering just beneath the drab exterior.
Lila's heart pounded with anticipation. The legend her grandmother had told her came back to her. Was it possible that she was meant to bring the Painted Sky back to life? She spent hours painting flowers, animals, and the beauty she observed in the world since she had always been drawn to the arts. Perhaps the secret lies in her passion for the hues.
Lila was determined to discover where the concealed hues came from. Beyond Elmsbrook, where the peasants seldom ever went, she traveled far into the enchanted forest. Many people thought the forest was the home of the gods, and they whispered that it was full of old magic. Lila was not scared, though. After all, her dreams had always been colorful, so she had never been afraid of the unknown.
Lila found herself standing in front of a magnificent, abandoned temple after hours of walking. Despite the vines covering its walls, it had a living quality, as if it were waiting for her. A quiet voice reverberated in the air as she approached.
"You are here, kid."
Lila glanced around, but nobody was there. "Who is present?"
The voice declared, "I am the spirit of the Painted Sky." "I have kept an eye on you, anticipating the kindhearted person. You want to bring the colors back, do not you?
"Yes," Lila said in a firm voice. "I think I can."
A gentle mist started to rise from the temple floor, causing the air around her to shimmer. A pulsating globe of light emerged in the middle of the mist. Every hue ever observed in the sky, including pinks, purples, golds, and blues, was present in the orb. However, they appeared to be waiting to be roused because they were so feeble.
The spirit instructed her to use her emotions to paint the sky in order to restore the colors. "But take note: the colors will go as soon as they appear if you pursue them for personal benefit."
Lila closed her eyes and reflected on the beauty of a simple sunset, the golden fields, the peaceful river, and the villagers' laughing. The potential of the world weighed heavily on her hands. She merely wanted to share the beauty with others and encourage others to see the world the way she did, not keep the colors for herself.
Lila caressed the orb tenderly after that. As though the gods themselves were grinning down on her, the colors burst into the sky as her fingers touched it, illuminating it in shades of violet, gold, and crimson. For the first time in generations, the Painted Sky was revived, and the drab gray that had long dominated the sky disappeared.
As the breathtaking hues stretched across the heavens, the village below gazed up in wonder, their eyes wide. The colors had become universal, no longer exclusive for Lila. The sky seems to have been waiting for a kindhearted person to bring its splendor back into the world.
Lila stood in the temple grinning as the sun sank, painting the horizon with its final golden rays. It was her. In addition to restoring the hues, she served as a reminder to the world that beauty should not be treasured. It was a shared experience.
Although it belonged to her, the Painted Sky belonged to everyone. And ever then, Elmsbrook has been awash in color, serving as a constant reminder that even the most basic objects can contain enchantment and that sometimes all it takes is a pure heart to bring back the beauty we once believed was gone.
And there would always be a painting in the sky—made for the soul as well as the eyes.
-I hope the spooky story was enjoyable! If you require any changes or another story, please let me know. Thank You.-
About the Creator
Rajoan Islam
Hey, Life is very beautiful, you have to enjoy it while it lasts.
Keep reading
More stories from Rajoan Islam and writers in Fiction and other communities.
"The Midnight Echoes"
"The Midnight Echoes" Gazing into the seemingly endless shadows, Sophia stood at the edge of the woodland. The trees, whose branches twisted into hideous patterns, looked like giants in the eerie silver illumination of the full moon, which hung low in the sky. A gentle breeze swept through the woods, and the only sound to break the stillness was the rustle of leaves. That silence felt different tonight, though. Something ancient electrified it, made it feel alive.
By Rajoan Islam10 months ago in Fiction
What Nobody Warns You About Growing Up
Nobody warns you that growing up doesn’t happen all at once. There’s no clear moment when childhood ends and adulthood begins. It sneaks up on you quietly, disguised as routine, responsibility, and small decisions that suddenly feel heavy. When we’re young, we imagine growing up as freedom. We think it means staying up late, earning money, making our own choices, and living life on our terms. Adults look powerful from the outside—confident, certain, and in control. What nobody tells you is that most adults are still figuring things out, just like you were, only with higher stakes. One of the first shocks of growing up is realizing that no one is coming to save you. As a child, there is always someone to fix things—parents, teachers, elders. A bad grade can be explained. A mistake can be forgiven easily. But as you grow older, the safety net thins. Mistakes start costing time, money, relationships, and sometimes self-respect. You learn that accountability isn’t just a word; it’s a weight you carry every day. Nobody warns you about how lonely growing up can feel. Even when surrounded by people, there’s a quiet distance that forms. Friends you once spoke to every day slowly drift away. Not because of anger or betrayal, but because life pulls everyone in different directions. Jobs, families, priorities—all rearrange your circle without asking for permission. You stop expecting people to stay forever and start appreciating those who do. Another thing no one talks about is how often you’ll doubt yourself. As a child, you dream without limits. You want to be everything at once—successful, admired, fearless. Growing up introduces comparison. You see others moving faster, earning more, achieving milestones you haven’t reached yet. Social media makes it worse, turning life into a scoreboard you never agreed to play on. You learn that confidence isn’t permanent; it’s something you rebuild again and again. Growing up also teaches you that hard work doesn’t always pay off immediately. You can do everything right and still feel stuck. Effort doesn’t guarantee results, and patience becomes one of the hardest lessons. Nobody warns you how exhausting it is to keep going when motivation fades and only discipline remains. Yet this is where growth actually happens—in the moments when quitting feels easier than continuing. Then there’s the emotional part no one prepares you for. You start seeing your parents as human beings, not just authority figures. You notice their fears, regrets, and limitations. Sometimes you understand them more; sometimes it hurts to realize they didn’t have all the answers either. Growing up often means forgiving people—not because they apologized, but because holding on to resentment is too heavy. You’re also not warned about how your definition of success changes. It stops being about applause and starts becoming about peace. A quiet mind. A stable income. A few people who genuinely care about you. You learn that happiness isn’t loud or dramatic; it’s often found in ordinary moments—coming home tired but safe, laughing at something small, sleeping without anxiety. One of the hardest truths of growing up is learning to let go. Let go of versions of yourself that no longer fit. Let go of people who can’t grow with you. Let go of timelines you once believed were fixed. This letting go feels like loss, even when it’s necessary. Nobody warns you that growth and grief often walk together. Yet, despite all this, growing up gives you something valuable—clarity. You begin to understand your boundaries. You learn when to say no without explaining yourself. You start choosing what matters instead of chasing everything. Strength stops looking like loud confidence and starts looking like quiet resilience. What nobody warns you about growing up is that it will break you in small ways—and rebuild you stronger in others. You’ll lose some innocence but gain wisdom. You’ll trade certainty for understanding. And even on days when you miss the simplicity of who you once were, you’ll realize you’re proud of who you’re becoming. Growing up isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about learning how to keep going, even when you don’t. And maybe that’s the lesson no one warns you about—adulthood isn’t a destination. It’s a continuous act of becoming.
By Hanif Ullah 6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.