Monday, March 10, 2008

The Flower Shop

This was the day.

No longer would he sit and watch as she walked by. No more would he simply admire from afar. Not one more night would pass thinking, no not thinking, longing; longing without knowing.

This was the day.

Or more correctly this was the evening.

There he sat waiting for his bus home hoping that she would walk past as she did every day. And when she finally did he felt a strong impulse to act on his feelings for this unknown woman.

His feet took on a life of their own and moved him in her direction. His head was buzzing and his hands were cold.

“What will I say?”

The bus he should be on passed him and he realised he was, in a small way, committed to the course of action he found himself on.

“What will I say?” He was getting closer to her. He could almost feel the warmth she left behind her as she walked.

Something flashed in the corner of his eye; a sign that read:

“Say it with flowers.”

I will say it with flowers!” he thinks.

The shop door opens in to a muddy darkness. Lights flash and flicker neither illuminating nor hiding.

“Hello?” He calls out.

There is not much time.

“Hello?”

The door closes behind him.

“Is anybody there? I’m just going to grab something and leave the money on the counter.”

He is sweating and uneasy.

It’s then that through the flickering light he sees that the shop is filled with dull looking memorials and wreaths. These are not flowers of love but of death.

Frightened but determined he grabs a flower throws down his money and races to the door.

The door opens in to dazzling sunlight.

He can just see her hair disappearing around the corner.

He starts to follow her again walking faster and faster. Sweat is trickling off his forehead and stinging his eyes.

When he lifts his sleeve to wipe the sweat away he sees that he is holding a dead red rose. Half the petals have already fallen off and more are making a trail behind him as he walks.

He stops suddenly. The rose falls from his hand and lands by his feet.

It’s darker as he finally walks back towards the bus stop.

He wonders if she will be there tomorrow; walking past him as he sits waiting for his bus.

But she isn’t.
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