Prompt: Write a story about the impact of art; Something money can't buy.

When he gets his first sketchbook, he is seven and dying.

His father passed the year before and his mother is at wit's end. Earlier this year, he'd tried to hide the longing in his eyes when they pass the thick paper and pencil sets displayed in the printer's window. Mam saw anyhow and he hears her crying at night sometimes because there is never enough for food, never mind fancy paper. Now it is deep into winter and Christmas is only a week away.

Mam burns the candle at both ends, nursing him through the hacking coughs that collapse his chest and the terrible fever that sucks him dry in between washing and mending and sewing clothes for their neighbors at a nickel a piece. He knows there is no money for a doctor, nothing for a present under the tree, and, secretly, he thinks he may not live to see Christmas morning even if there were.

At the stroke of midnight on Christmas day, Mam wakes him up from a restless sleep and gives him a package wrapped in newspaper and twine.

Inside is a dollar sketchbook and a dime set of pencils. He cries and so does Mam. They stay up until the sun rises, taking turns drawing on the first page. They fill every corner with stars and snowflakes and flowers and wishes until the page is black and one sketch can't end before the next begins.

His fever breaks an hour later and they laugh until they cry.