Dead Flowers

                                                                        

She’s been living here since she was young, probably two or three. She had long brown hair and freckles that speckled her face rounded face. Her eyes were bright blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her cheeks. When they came and choose her to stay in the room in which I hung I was ecstatic, there wasn’t much company for me when I just hung in the old storage room. I now had a purpose, I swung around when it was hot out and I light up the room when it’s dark so she can read despite how late it is. She has always stayed in here as a comfort, even when she was young.

“Go to your room NOW.” the angry man would boom at her.

“But daddy, I didn’t mean to” her high pitched voice would plead, despite her knowledge of the angry man’s stubbornness.

Then his voice would rise, and I’d hear a few quick smacks and possibly a crash until she came running into the room where I hang. She would weep and weep in her pillow for hours, I think he’s the reason she began staying in here for longer periods of time. When she was five her sister was born, and she loved her sister very much, her mom disappeared a few weeks later leaving the two girls with the angry man. When the angry man’s voice would boom too hard she would run in here with her sister. With all of her might she would push the table against the door, and as the angry man slammed on the door she would get down beside her bed clasp her hands together and pray.

 She was seven when her sister began to give her the flowers. Her sister would go outside whenever she was weeping and pick her flowers, dandelions, tulips, anything she could find. She hung the flowers on me, intertwining them into a wreath like structure. Soon instead of weeping she would lay down on her bed, and stare up at me and the flowers as if it was the night sky. Despite how dead the flowers were she saw them as beautiful. Whenever the drunken angry man threw a fit her and her sister would just stare at the dead flowers.

“I’m happy I picked these for you when I was little” whispered the sister.

“I’m happy you picked them for me too. I like them” she smiled at her sister.

They then lay silent for a long time and watched as the dead flowers swung around and around along with me. As she grew older she spent more time in the room. She sat down at the table; the same one she pushes against the door and read. She would be gone all day at school, and come back with an almost translucent expression crossing her face. Sometimes her sister would open the door to try and talk to her.

“Did they make fun of you again today?” her sister would whisper quietly.

“No, I don’t know. Please leave” was her response every time.

She would sit and read, sometimes write all night long. Most of the time she would fall asleep at that table, the table was a comfort to her. Sometimes she would lay on her bed and stare up at the brown flowers again. Despite her reluctance towards her sister, she would still bring her new flowers every week and string them along with the other ones. Her sister was worried about her, she wasn’t coming out of her the room. One day as she was laying in her bed staring at the flowers, her sister came in and laid down next to her.

“I have more flowers for you, I’m not sure if you still like me but I know you like these damn flowers”

“It isn’t that I don’t like you” she said as the gingerly strung the flowers.

“Then what is it? Is it because you’re a teenager now? I’m almost a teenager too you know I’m almost twelve”

“It isn’t that. It isn’t you. I’m sorry” she said while still beaming straight up at me.

“What is it, please tell me I’m scared for you. I know what you’re doing, and I don’t want to tell dad”

“Don’t tell dad. I don’t do it to make a statement or anything. I only wear long sleeves how did you even see? I’m just not happy okay.”

“I won’t tell dad because I know what he’ll do, but you need to stop you’re going to end up hurting yourself”

“Isn’t that the point?” she turned to her and whispered.

“I know but please..”

“Okay stop forget it please. The flowers are still beautiful you know. Despite being torn from the ground and tied up. They swing around and around on that old ceiling fan. They’re brown but they’re still beautiful. Those flowers look free hanging up there don’t they?”

“Uh I know they are, that’s why I picked them for you” her sister said, confused.

She kissed her sister on the head and whispered “I love you okay? Everything will be fine. Now get out of here, I have to do my homework”

“I love you too” her sister said in a raspy voice. Her sister stood up and left hesitantly, and looked back at her sister. Her sister tossed a single dandelion onto her bed and then shut the door.

She pushed herself up, and hung the dandelion among with the other dead flowers. She pushed her table against the door, except her father wasn’t yelling this time. She sat down at the table and scribbled down something quickly. Slowly she walked over and picked up a long scarf and hung it onto me, making a knot. Reluctantly she stood against her bed, sobbing for a while until she took a big gulp of air. The room went completely silent. There was another dead, but beautiful flower hanging freely off of me. Once again, the room in which I hung was an empty storage room.