Writing Prompt: Day 13


Day 13 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write a story where someone gives someone else flowers for an unusual reason.

Shannon: I placed the flowers in front of him on the kitchen table. “Who gave you these,” he questioned.

“No one,” I explained, “Actually, they’re for you.”

He gave me a funny look, like I had lost my mind thinking this gift was something he could appreciate. “Why,” he tried to mask his disapproval.

“They’re called forget-me-nots,” I attempted to lead into the true reason.

“Ah,” he flashed a smile with an uncomfortable amount of force. “I like how blue they are,” he humored me. “My favorite color, is that why you picked them out?”

“No,” I sighed. They were a front for what I really wanted to say, the good news before the bad. “I picked them because I want to break up. I’m sorry. I don’t think this relationship is working for either of us anymore.”

He started staring at the petals, and I watched his mouth curve in a sad smirk. He looked blindsided. The one reaction I didn’t want see. “Mmm,” he hummed, “So you are another girl that hates me now?”

I shook my head, “No,” I argued, “Why would I give you flowers if I hated you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t understand you. Why would you give me flowers at all? This isn’t exactly a situation that can be brightened with flowers,” he placed his head in his hands.

I paused, surprised to see him so upset. I didn’t think he would give me the time to explain. “I didn’t buy them thinking they’d be your band-aid. I hate doing this. I can’t stand that just because I don’t want to date you anymore it means I am supposed to say goodbye forever,” my words caused his face to reappear. “I also don’t want your only memory of me to be how we broke up,” the word was harder to say than I expected. “We had some really good times didn’t we,” I smiled, as my eyes started to water.

He nodded.

I reached out to cover my hand over his and squeeze it tightly. “Than promise that when you think of me in the future you’ll remember the good times,” I begged.

He stared for a bit, but his eyes slowly lightened, “Of course. How could I not,” he gestured to the flowers in an attempt to lighten the mood for both of us.

Erin: Logan is my lab partner. He is the quite mysterious black haired kid in the back corner of the room. Sometimes when I look back at him our eyes lock for a moment and he blinks once holding the contact before going back to looking at the professor. I always feel like he knows something I don’t.

As we go through rewording our report to meet the template requirements we were given he slides my computer out of my reach. “What are you doing,” I question, a little skeptical of what my favorites and search history will reveal about me.

“It’s my turn to type,” he doesn’t even look up, just starts transferring our notes.

“Cool,” I oblige. My experience with male lab partners had been spotty. I know that I shouldn’t categorize the bad partners by their private parts. In my defense, at one point in time one of them told me he knew I would do the work if he didn’t, because I was a girl. That slightly justifies my sexism, right?

“You’re very intelligent,” he says in the middle of typing.

“Pardon,” I’m not sure how to react to his statement.

“I’m checking the grammar,” another thing other lab partners “trust me” to do. “How you write shows how smart you are.” He looks up. His eyes are a mix of gray and blue. The muddling of the blue suits him. He holds my eyes longer than he ever does in class.

“Thank you. The fact that you say that, makes you intelligent in my opinion.” He gifts me a chuckle. “I am absolutely famished. Do you want to meet me at the Pizza Pit?”

“You don’t have to invite me,” he offers as we both packed our bags.

“Every rational student has eaten by now. I can’t eat a whole pizza by myself. You’re coming.” Logan has his lip pierced, so when he smiles the metal flashes the light in my eye.

I order without him, because mysterious boy may have stood me up. The bacon chicken ranch pizza is placed on the table and not even seconds later flowers are placed next to them. I shoot my confused eyes to the culprit muddling up the perfect table of pizza. Logan. “Um, they’re just to thank you.” He seems confused by my confusion and the whole restaurant is flooded by discomfort.

“I have to be your lab partner,” I remind. Reaching to the bottom of the physics hat has resulted in me getting flowers from rose tattoo boy, Logan. Logan, is my lab partner. Logan’s flowers look like Logan’s tattoo. I’ve always been well aware of his presence in our class, but the name I learned from the hat of fate.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to invite me to eat with you. I’ve never been invited to hang out with anyone outside of class,” the blue in his eyes intensifies in the light. His voice is like frosting, I find his statement hard to believe.

“Well oh boy, now that you brought me flowers this is a date,” I shrug.

The blush that overcomes his face gives his harsh appearance an innocence, “this doesn’t have to be…”

“Too late,” I enjoy the red being upped a shade at a time.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel obligated.”

“Hey idiot. I’m smart remember. You brought me flowers for being nice. I want this to be a date,” I take a bite of the pizza. “You’re not vegetarian are you Logan?”

“No,” once his lip ring escapes him pulling it into his mouth it sends off countless happy flashes.

I would give you flowers for reading this, but that seems like…impossible. The story is the only gift we have I guess.

3 thoughts on “Writing Prompt: Day 13

  1. Kate:
    Bleached, grey birches towered above the garden, guarding the precious, empty flowerbeds from prying eyes. In the height of summer heat the beds had been stage to magnificent marigolds, ravishing roses and pleasant pansies but the oasis had since fallen into disuse. All that remained of the summer glory was the remnants of a fair garden in the shade of the cheery maples; the only colour to brighten an autumn afternoon. A lonely bench, long overdue for a comforting chat, stood awkwardly to the side.
    When the young man drifted, not unlike a ghost, into the barren clearing the greying grass and forlorn flowerbeds his presence was like air breathed into a corpse. His heavy footfalls crackled in the parched, icy grass. Gradually he made his way to the frozen stone bench, glancing around gloomily at the lack of life. The jacket he wore was left open on a wrinkled, unbuttoned dress shirt. Sitting quietly on the rough seat, his breath puffing out in tiny, gloomy clouds, he put his head in his gloved hands. Had anyone been there he would have feigned strength, but as he was alone with the souls of dead flowers he sobbed silently.
    After a while the wind began to blow gently through the leaves in the trees and the young man got to his feet, wiped a stray tear from his red eyes and wandered out of the garden, dejected. The ancient trees whispered to eachother as he left but no one else was there to hear them.

    A few minutes later a young woman, clad in a wedding dress as pale as her skin, ran into the sorrowful garden. Casting around gloomily at the empty flowerbeds the woman wandered the slight space aimlessly for hours, moaning about her long lost love to the understanding trees. When the sun began to die behind the snow-capped mountains the poor woman cried wholeheartedly as she fled from the garden.
    The trees, unsure what to make of the deathly pale woman, chattered loudly in her absence.

    The next day, around the same time as he’d shown up before, the young man returned. Though his demeanor was still that of a broken man his shirt was pressed and buttoned. Around the garden the trees applauded his polished appearance but he didn’t notice. Floating to the nearest barren flowerbed he knelt on frosty turf, dropping a shopping bag beside him.
    A hush fell upon the world as he plucked, from the bag, a large bright red rose bush. Carefully he placed it on the dirt before taking out a silver spade. Digging a sizable hole in the firm soil he gently planted the rose bush. After wiping his hands on the immaculate material of his pants he cleaned up the tools and sauntered from the garden amid much worried chatter amongst the foliage.

    When the ashen woman came into the garden, her embroidered dress shimmering in the dull light of the sun, the trees sighed sadly. But when she glanced around today she spotted the newly embedded red rose bush and smiled a brilliant set of pearly whites. Falling to her knees before the lovely plant she caressed it adoringly, shedding tears of happiness.
    Roses were one of her favorite flowers. As the day grew darker and dusk fell she hummed quietly to the young plant, willing it to grow. But when the light faded to black the woman vanished into the shadowy night.

    As the sun rose behind stormy clouds the man appeared in the garden a third time. This time his mood was almost content as he stopped by the flowerbed again. Placing the bag on the grass this morning he removed eight great golden geraniums from its depths. Deliberately he planted these beside the roses and peppered the nine plants with water. When he got up to leave the trees rustled happily; enjoying the colourful company.

    The woman came into the garden on the third day to find her second favorite flowers had appeared in the bed; geraniums. When she collapsed before them in elation even the roses sighed with relief. Softly, her elegant dress trembling with her breath, she hummed to the bulbous blooms as a storm raged miles away.
    But when the rain started to drizzle on the leaves she flew from the garden as though it were acid. Though the trees loved her sweet songs they worried for her; she was so pale. They also wondered who the young man was, who planted flowers for a woman he never met.

    For the next five days the young man filled the flowerbed, in the middle of autumn, with a rainbow of flowers for this woman: bright yellow yarrow, perky green gerberas, serene blue begonias, royal purple petunias and rosy pink peonies. Even with freezing rain and bouts of strong wind the plants continued to flourish under his watchful eye.

    The young woman returned every day to find a wondrous new flower to rain love down upon. By the seventh day she serenaded the entire garden with haunting renditions of heartbreaking ballads and love songs that would make you weep. She seemed more joyful with the addition of the flowers.
    Sorrow still clung to her like a sap on a log; she still whisked from the clearing before the sun went down. But she seemed healthier. She’d dance in the dim fall sunlight, making the petunias sway and the roses bloom. All of a sudden the trees began to expect their young visitors; one in the morning, the other just after he’d gone. They wouldn’t admit it but they were enamoured with their little dance.

    On the eighth day the young man arrived later than usual, taking his time as he walked into the middle of the garden and stood before the bench. In his lapel winked a white rosebud and on his lips he wore a bittersweet smile. Nervously he picked at a loose thread at his wrist, looked at his watch and straightened his flower. The trees rustled with anxious anticipation.
    When the young woman, pale as ever, tiptoed between the maples the trees cooed. She stepped lightly out into the open without looking up. When she noticed the young man she froze half-way to the bench. There was a look of incredulity on her face which melted into somber joy. Her feet were a blur as she danced across the few feet between them.
    Just before they would touch, though, she stopped and they gazed lovingly at eachother across the tiny universe between them. She mouthed something sorrowfully as tears streaked silently down her cheeks. He repeated her aloud, “I miss you.” In sync they reached out to touch hands and both fell through one another. The tears he cried fell on the solid grass while hers melted into oblivion.
    If trees could weep they would have as the young man continued to bring his late fiancé flowers every autumn.


  2. Russell:
    “Uhhhh…Collin, where’s Patel?” The lanky boy stammered. He sat awkwardly, legs and arms crossed as he leaned forward on the metal indoor picnic table. The suit he wore fit him snugly, his oak brown business shoes clicked as he knocked the heels in anticipation. Across from him, a broad shoulder man in a suit coolly watched the bank lobby room as well. They sat in a small locally owned coffee shop installed adjacent to the bank lobby it self. The coffee shop had various busts of previous owners or notable patrons that had frequented there. Two cups of coffee sat between them as the strong almond aroma wafted between them. Two empty tiny cups of cream and an empty packet of real honey sat beside. An awful looking black plastic bag with a tanned white sealed letter sat between them with the tuffs of a plastic yellow rose.
    Just outside the coffee shop was the lobby room for the Imperial Silver, a luxurious bank for the highest echelons of New Jericho. A grand lobby room about the size of 100ft in diameter was cylinder in design, with an artificial skylight shining down upon the center of the room. To the north side of the room above the tellers, A shimmering 1ft wide coin with a two-headed lion proudly shone with a clean glitter of polished platinum. Deep rolling banners of purple were draped down besides the emblem in an almost patriotic way. Along with the usual tellers and ATMs. Through the center of the room, a babbling streams of water flowed an ancient earth rock garden. A miniature mountainous range of small boulders opened to an open field of raked pebbles
    Collin checked his watch. “She should be here soon Fishel.” He coolly said. Rummaging through the cheap plastic bag and handed the boy the ugly bouquet of mismatched flowers and cheap plastic roses. “You can keep these; my date didn’t make it.” Collin was already walking away before the lanky boy could sputter.
    “Doyle?” Fishel held the flowers like that of a clueless groom. “Where are you going? I thought we were staying close until Patel got here.” He looked over his shoulder at the inviting selection of speciality coffees chalked up on board over the till.
    Collin turned around. “I think she’s running late for a reason.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the main entrance of the bank. “I won’t be long.”
    Fishel watched as Collin walked away, tapping away at the table half worriedly. A barista walked up the table, her finely crafted black apron draped over her second hand white shirt. “Would you like to have another cup Mister Nolman?” She asked with a forced cheeriness.
    Fishel met with the waitress’s oak brown eyes with his own turquoise eye. “Um, no more for thank you…” He quickly glanced at the opal white name tag pinned to her apron. “Rachel. Thank you.”
    Rachel smiled. “I’ll get your receipt then?”
    “Uhh sure.” He turned back to watching the lobby room as Rachel walked back to print off the bill. Immediately he noticed two silver clad security guards patrolling, their armour giving the appearance of condottiere. Their beaked Kevlar and metal helmets and domed shoulder guards made the smallest of the pair bigger than he seamed. He scanned the crowd, noticing the familiar of face of Patel in the crowd. Wearing a business dress. He waved his hand when he saw her. He took a sip of his coffee.”
    Rachel returned with a credit reader. “That will be five hundred please.”
    He spat, coffee spraying out like a broken water fountain. “Five hundred what?” Dumbfound, he locked eyes with Rachel. “That was only two cups!”
    Rachel cringed, forcing a wide smile despite her best efforts. “Well, each cup of almond spliced coffee beans is a hundred and twenty each.” She put the bill in front of him. “And your colleague, Mr. Abcard, purchased two packets of cream which are a sixty-five each and then finally the packet of Honey Pure is a hundred and thirty.”
    “That’s insane!”
    “That’s capitalism sir.” She tapped the bill with an impatient finger. “Will that be credit or debit?”
    The gentle voice of Patel interrupted. “We’ll be staying a little longer.” She sat down in the chair previously occupied. “How much for Tea?”
    The lamentation in Rachels voice was apparent. “Our most popular tea is Jungle Aphrodite which is sweetened by touch of raspberry.”
    Fishel interjected. “Waitwait, wait!” He looked for Collin in the lobby room, and saw him being talked to by the pair of security officers. “Uh, hold on, how much for this tea?” He pointed at the bill sitting stubbornly between the three of them. “Collin – I mean Mr.Abcard was originally going to pay for the bill.”
    Patel looked between the two, glancing at the bill before silently gasping. “Can you give us a moment?”
    Rachel groaned, leaving the two while moved on to one of the other patrons.
    Fishel leaned in close to whisper to Patel. “Where were you?”
    Patel glanced back at the two security guards integrating Collin. “Them.” She looked at the ugly bouquet of flowers. “Where did you find those ugly things.”
    Fishel chuckled nervously, offering the flowers to her. “For uh, you?” Patel raised an unimpressed eye brow. “I think Collin is buying you time.” He took the tanned letter and handed to her. “Also, happy birthday.”
    Patel looked at the flowers and letter before bawling out laughing, causing Rachel to glare at the table. “Oh, that’s funny. Collin has the worst sense of choice when it comes to flowers though.” She accepted the flowers before opening the sealed envelope and read it. Silently she put the instructions down. “Hey Fishel, can you go over and help Collin? I need to make a transaction.”
    “What about the bill?” Fishel pointed a thumb at the piece of paper.
    Patel just smiled deviously. “Dine and dash?”
    Fishel shook his head. “It’s insane but I can’t just leave an unpaid” Patel winked and started walking away with bouquet in hand. Fishel panicked. “ – Hey! uh Patel! A little help here would be nice.”
    Rachel sauntered up to the table. “Looks like your girlfriend just left you.”
    Fishel shook his head, resisting the urge to scrunch up his face. “She’s not my girlfriend. I’ll just pay the blasted thing and never come back here.” He took out his wallet and shakily pulled out his credit card. Tapping it on the top of the card reader. It binged affirmatively as five hundred dollars flashed on the screen, a yellow happy face smiling back in mocking approval. Fishel sunk back into his chair defeated.
    Rachel turned heel and walked away, leaving the defeated young man alone. Fishel glanced at the two security guards. A small crowd of investors had started to crowd around them. They were talking with more authority as Collin silently stood as he took their berating remarks and inquires. Fishel walked over to the center of the lobby. “Hey, um, what’s going on here?”
    The short security guard turned around, lifting his visor to reveal a chubby face. “None of your concern. Hey, wait a minute don’t I know you?” He looked over Fishel before nudging his friend. “I think we should take these two back for some more questioning.”
    Collin calmly looked back Fishel, nodding. Fishel looked at the crowd starting to mass. He thought quickly. “I wanted to uh, congratulate you and your security team personally.”
    The long one turned his back on Collin, his face shaped like a soft diamond with a knife-like chin. “Is that so eh?”
    Fishel spoke without thinking. “Yes, it is! All of us here are grateful to have you here keeping watch for any dangers. In fact, I’m so grateful, I’d like to buy both of you some coffee!” He fletched at the idea of paying any more over priced coffee.
    Suddenly alarms rang. “What the – “the tall one said before being knocked on the head by a singular strike.
    Patel came rushing out, two safety deposit boxes in toll. “Run!”
    The three of them dashed out of the building, running out the front door just before the security grating shut behind them. They dashed around a corner away from the Imperial Silver. Collin lifted a maintenance hatch as the three of them clambered in just before the rest of security showed up.


  3. Created to Write: Finn came in from helping repaint the barn. Andrew ran down the stairs once he heard his voice. “Finn! I need help with my robot!”
    When Finn learned about the color scheme problem, he joined the teen in his room. August shakes his head at the pair and goes back to helping Leslie with her math homework.
    The door opens slowly, and a pair of feet stomp into the entryway; one foot is heavier than the other. August looks up, releasing a snicker. Leslie wonders what’s so funny, until she bursts into laughter.
    Heather has a streak of pink over her front and blue is spread over her face like war paint.
    “…Where’s Finn?” she asks.
    Finn curses upstairs, a little too loudly. Heather turns to the stairs, but until she can mount them, Andrew comes down.
    “Finn apologizes for changing the paint colors,” he says.
    “Why isn’t he down here himself?”
    “Because he’s scared of you-”
    “No I’m not,” Finn says, appearing. Andrew smirks, knowing how Finn froze like ice when he heard how angry Heather was earlier. Finn holds out a bouquet of flowers for Heather. “I am sorry.”
    Heather glares at him, “The entire side of the barn is pink,” she elaborates, “and you had a bucket of,” she points at her face.
    He smiles to himself, but still offers the flowers, “I will fix it, promise.”
    Heather takes the flowers, “Have Andy help you.”
    “What did I do?” Andrew asks.
    “Go help,” Heather states. Andrew sighs, then goes to tidy up his robot work. Finn walks backwards out of the house. Heather watches him, suspicious.
    “So… We good?” Finn asks.
    Heather nods, reluctantly.
    “Good.” Finn turns and dashes out of the house. Andrew follows him, snickering. Heather wonders what that was about, then the flowers start to lose their color. They lose their soft petals, and become paper. As the temporary construction fades in her hands, Heather looks at August.
    “Impromptu training?” He asks.
    Heather grins, “You read my mind.”


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