Flower Daily

770 words
warning: mentions of d3ath

Flowers: sweetpea (departure), oleander (beware), rhododendron (danger)

I blinked my eyes open slowly, yawning widely.
Ding dong! Ding dong!
Oh, shoot. The doorbell was ringing. At 2:00am. Great.

I hauled myself out of bed and lumbered down the stairs, tripping as I went. Probably some sort of scam, I thought.
I twisted my keys in the lock, flakes of paint showering me from above as I tugged the door open.
“Morning, sir, an urgent delivery from Mr Tennol. Hope you have a nice day.” A young man in a dark uniform recited automatically.
“Nice night.” I muttered bitterly.
I sat myself down on one of the deep leather chairs in the living room and tore open the package. Wrapped up in coarse brown string, sprigs of vibrant sweetpeas with leafy emerald stems lay limply on the plain white tissue paper. I furrowed my brow in confusion. Who was sending me flowers at 2 am?
Mr Tennol?
I shook my head and waved the thought away.

And then it struck me. Mr Tennol. ‘Tennol’ was the surname of the kid that I used to be best friends with in primary school. He hated technology and had illegible handwriting, so when he wanted to talk to me and I wasn’t there in person, we would send each other flowers. ‘Flower language.’ It originated from Victorian times and I knew the meaning of pretty much every flower. Sweetpeas meant ‘departure.’
“Bit discreet,” I murmured.
I felt my eyelids drooping, my mind urging me desperately to go back to bed. I fought the sensation and made myself a cup of coffee, while trying to work out the meaning of the message. I hadn’t talked to Alfie (Mr Tennol) since I was 12. I was now 22, with a career, and a rented house. Why was he talking to me now?

I sipped on my coffee distantly, the hot liquid burning my tongue. I cried out in surprise. The cup smashed to the ground and scattered all over the floor in uneven fragments. Why was I so on edge? I swept up the pieces and ran eagerly back upstairs, sinking back into my pillows in satisfaction. I sighed happily.
It’s probably nothing to worry about, my delusional mind told me.

Yeah. Totally.

The next morning I woke to the sound of the doorbell ringing at 6:00 am. Again.

I sighed heavily and tramped down the stairs, my steps heavy and tired.
“Yes?” I asked, my voice laced with frustration.
“Another parcel for you sir. Very urgent. From Mr Tennol.”
“Um. OK. Thanks, I guess.”

This time, the parcel contained heaps of oleanders, their mellow pink and white petals bright and cheerful, unlike their meaning. Beware.
“Amazing!” I told myself sarcastically, “Just amazing.”
I rubbed my eyes and stood up to look in the mirror. My uneven black hair hung in a frizzy mop over my pale head, freckles scattered across like a map. Huge bags sagged underneath my eyes. I needed to sleep.
For what I hoped was the last time for at least a few hours, I dragged myself into bed and snuggled into the duvet contentedly.

Little did I know what was coming next.

I sat up dead straight in my bed.
Ding dong! Ding dong!
I glanced at my clock. 6:07 am.
“Are you kidding me?” I yelled, banging my fist on my bedside table.

I raced down the stairs, snatched the parcel from the young man standing in front of me, gave one quick look at his tired, pale face and shouted, “GO TO BED!” and slammed the door.

Rule of three.

This had to stop.

This time it was packed with piles of rhododendrons. A single lilac petal landed on my finger. Danger. That was a rhododendron’s meaning. Awesome.

I’m disappointed to say that I passed out onto the floor at that very moment, and immediately began snoring for the next 4 hours. Then I was woken by the doorbell. Again.
“Arghhhhh!” I screamed, my voice raw and choked and very annoyed.
A pulled open the door wildly.
“What is it this time?” I shrieked.
“Oh, hi Luca.”
Alfie.
“Alfie… what’s going on?”
A shadow passed over his face.
“I’m sorry… I just received word. Your mother died.”
I stepped back, startled. Tears sprung from my eyes.
“A-Are you sure?” I asked tentatively.
He nodded mutely.
“And now she’s put you in charge of her house. And… she’s given permission for a group of bandits to live in it and they - they want to come after you and kill you.”
I blinked slowly.
“They what?”

Daily:
Luce flipped through her floriography book untill finding the flower she needed. With a sigh, she placed oleander in a box, as a way of saying “beware, Cecilia!”
She continued writing the letter with flowers:
“You are attached to Victor. He might be our childhood friend, but he changed since that time. He is now heartless, he spins dark thoughts to hurt you. Sometimes, you just have to let go of past relationships. Love, Lucy.”
With another sigh, she went to deliver the box. It was hard to break up a pair of who seemed to be a good relationship. But it would be harder to not do it .
___________________

Sophia looked at Cecilia with a frown.
“Are you sure it's for you?”
“Yes. It has a name tag.”
“Lets see. Ice plant.” Sophia pointed at the red flower. “It means heartless. Nightshade, the dark flowers, mean sorcery or dark thoughts. Oleander. It may look pretty, but it means beware. Periwinkle means memory, friendship. Everlasting means attachment. If put together, this makes something important. It's up to you to figure out the rest. It's a message for you, after all.” With those words, Sophia got up and left.
Cecilia thought. And thought some more. And then she realised what it meant…
__________________________
Cecilia ran up to Lucy and hugged her. No hello, no how's life, just a hug. And a tear.
“Thank you…” whispered Cecilia.
Lucy smiled.
“Your name may mean blind, but I am not letting you go on without seeing what it leads to.”
“Can you teach me how to write with flowers?”
“Maybe. But definitely later. See you around, chuckaboo.”
And life carried on for this victorian pair of friends. It had difficulties (in fact, it was mostly difficulties), but they weren't as harsh after remembering that there is always someone who wishes you the best.
There is someone in your life like that, too. Never forget that.
(319 words)
(Idk, this is the best I can today)

November 5th Daily - 524 Words
It is canon that most of my characters are Christian, so of course I was going to give them a Christian wedding ceremony. <3 This is Alfie Zhan & Adelaide Waters, and I swear I have been teasing their marriage for like, ever (they’re currently engaged in the timeline) so guess who just decided to go ahead and write part of their wedding scene!

If you want to know, they are the same Alfie & Adelaide that appeared in my November 3rd Daily

“Adelaide, from the moment I first met you, I knew I wanted to spend my life with you. Your care and compassion shines through in everything you do, and from watching you from afar, and the care you’ve shown people has shown me you’re a good person. And I promise to make our marriage a loving, fruitful marriage where we can cherish each other through kindness, compassion, and love for not just us, but for others.” Alfie’s voice was clearly shaking as he said this, holding back tears.

Adelaide looked back at Alfie. “Alfie, when I met you, you came off as both frustrating and adorable. But over time, I’ve come to find that you’re a truly caring soul, someone who would go out of their way to do anything. I’ve seen that when we’ve been working together, in the hospital, and at home, when I’m sick or hurt. You’ve always been there for me when I need it. I promise to make our marriage one built on the virtues of love and kindness, one where we can continue to show these to ourselves and to others.” Adelaide responded in kind with her wedding vows.

Alfie swallowed. The officiant stepped forward, reading the vows. “Do you, Alfie Zhan, take Adelaide Waters to be your lawfully wedded wife, under the eyes of God?”

“I do.” Came the response.

“Do you, Adelaide Waters, take Alfie Zhan to be your lawfully wedded wife, under the eyes of God?” The officiant asked Adelaide.

“I do,” She replied.

“Do you both promise to love and cherish each other, in sickness and in health, and to love each other unconditionally, for as long as you may live?”

“We do.”

“Then, I pronounce you husband and wife.” The officiant stepped back, and all eyes were on Alfie and Adelaide under the arch. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Alfie leaned in towards Adelaide, trying not to damage the carefully-picked bouquet Adelaide was holding. A loud cheer erupted from the audience as the two turned to the audience after the kiss.

Adelaide raised her left arm, showing the beautiful bouquet that was picked by the two of them, representing their love and promises to each other as stated in the wedding through the meanings of each flower.

Daliahs, to mean that they were each other’s until the very end.

Elderflowers, to represent the compassion they strived for as both an individual and a couple.

Honeysuckles, to represent their deep and running ties of love towards each other.

Snowdrops, to represent their hopes and dreams for the future.

And violets, to show their faithfulness to each other and to their faith.

Adelaide glanced over at Alfie, before raising the bouquet and tossing it, scattering the flowers everywhere as a symbol of their aim to show love to everyone they came across.

They landed everywhere in the room, on the ground, in some people’s hair and clothes, and most importantly, radiating out from where the two of them stood, underneath a carefully constructed flower arch.

“We should totally have done this sooner,” Adelaide whispered as music started and they walked back down the aisle.

Word War!
Word Count (Of just the second attempt): 212
(okay, so I didn't see that my timer went off for a bit before stopping writing, so I'm showing the writing I did previously to prove that it's not the same)
“in a world of black and white, you would be red.”

(I glanced around, looking at my friend. Her eyes, red and swollen, were the only color I was able to see. She glanced at me, a bit concerned when she saw the look on my face. “What’s wrong” “Nothing, you just… look weird.” “Well that’s rude” “Yeah, but it’s true. Sorry-” She wiped her tears away, making a face, “Okay, that is SERIOUSLY rude. Why would you say that? I literally just told you that my dad died, and you’re over here telling me that I look funny. Cut it out! I need love and support right now and I don’t know why you’re acting so strange.” I huffed, “I’m sorry, I just, noticed something that I found intriguing. That’s all. Now, let’s get back to your dad. Why don’t you tell me about some things that he did to make you feel happy?” “That’s really hard, because you know just how annoying he was. He was so loud, so screamy, I don’t know why I feel so sad. I should be celebrating, right? He never treated me well.” “Oh- right.” I had forgotten those stories. I was too focused on the faint redness that surrounded her eyes. She looked at me, piercing me with the color as she continued to rant about her father. “He was never around, and even when he was, he wasn’t very nice. And you know that, right?” I nodded. She nodded back, wiping her face as she collected herself, “Mom, when she called me, was really happy sounding. She had been trying to get out of their relationship for years, and for good reasons. Why am I so sad about it then? Please, John, you have to give me some sort of reason because I can’t make sense of this at ALL.” I sighed, “Look, maybe it’s just because of a twisted emotional connection that you had with him.” “Maybe it is, maybe that’s why is)

I glanced around, looking at the various goalposts. One was black, and the other, red. It was small, but they were significant. This dream was weird…. I tried my best to make sense of these two colored poles. In the void, I was nothing. Nothing but an observer of the two goal posts that decided to make their way into my subconscious. I tried to speak. “Hello? What is going on?” I heard a voice reply, “Are you going to kick the ball through?” I looked down, and there was a soccer bal at my feet. I made a face, trying to move my legs. BUt they chose to stay put, to stay immobile. I was stuck. I tried to pry my feet off of the ground, but they woldn’t buge. I screamed into the void and attempted to ask for help. But no one came. Soon the voice from before tutted in disappoint. “Oh come on. You missed your chance. Why must you waste yourpotential. It was so easy, so easy to just lift your foot. Why didn’t you do it? Why are so lazy, why are you so average. You can’t perform, you can’t do the things I say for you to do. And you just can’t do anything right.”

Daily 5: Flower Daily
word count - 323 words

As the darkness falls under the light, shadows of the past creep down beneath. Rose petals of doom and destruction fly, as I weep at the bottom of the stairs. Like a smoke-filled well, craddling emotions, the bucket spills. It's not the first time. My sadness feels unbearable as I embark on this journey, one that was said to be of joy and new life.

I craddled the bouqet that she had left, one that was falling apart at its seems. Like its color that was once lively, the world seemed to vanish as it withered. One by one, day by day, I felt a part of my whole leaving my soul. The world around me was black and white, and the little color that remained was not far behind.

The marigolds filled with memories, remembering our conversations - all fell with that last breath I took. The tears that I had kept, bottled in for so long, were not flooding uncontrollably down my cheeks. All I needed was a warm embrace, a sight of the past to remind me of my worth. The fields filled with flowers and those of passing days, where we spent our childhood days.

Now in what world do I imagine seeing you after all the darkness and despair that is left. Just as the flowers died off and lost its shine, I lost the one thing that kept me alive. The struggles and challenges were only bearable because of you, yet how do you still expect me to survive without your smile. The gleam in your eyes was so true and filled with joy that I knew that despite my struggles I had to live another day.

In this note to you I hope you know, that you were my one, my life, my everything. And unlike every other fairytale, this one was never to see a happily ever after.

daily #5 ✦ my lady flower (im sorry the title is bad i have another title in mind but i forgot to work in the thing that would make it make sense into this draft so you get a bad temporary title that also makes no sense instead) ✦ 1965 words I AM DEAD

Dying was easy.
It was being Death that was hard.
Especially now, when his latest (and best) assistant had just quit. Death rifled through job applications while keeping an eye on his assignments for the day. The man who was going to jump off the building’s 44th floor (or 45th? Death wasn’t sure) could wait until later, he decided. He didn’t have time to deal with him right now.
“Hello?”
Death turned, expecting to see - well, not what he saw. The relief sent phantom shivers down his spine. Not that he could really shiver anymore.
It was a woman, her extremely red hair pulled neatly back into a businesslike bun. She stuck out a hand. “I’m Diane.”
Death blinked at her.
Her smile didn’t waver, and there was a long moment where neither of them moved or changed expression. He started to count the freckles on her nose and cheeks. (Seventeen.)
“I’m…Diane,” she repeated, as though that was supposed to mean something to him. (It didn’t.) “Your new assistant.”
Death stared at the pile of paperwork and wondered if he was going mad.
“I already hired you?” he asked. “I just started looking at job applications.”
“I’m here to save you the trouble,” Diane said promptly. “Where should I start?”
Death didn’t have enough time or willpower to deal with this. Fine. Whatever. This lady showing up meant that much less time he had to spend on paperwork.
“Over there,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards more heaps of paper. “Busy day today. Assign the less important deaths to whoever has less than the others.”
His phrasing had confused many assistants in the past and caused him to spend precious time explaining, but Diane appeared more than capable of diving right in without further words and did so.
Death sat for a few seconds without doing anything (a luxury he rarely indulged in.)
“That fixes it? I guess?” he said to himself, before snapping out of it and getting back to work.
He wondered if she always wore flowers in her hair.

She did, and everytime he saw her they were different.
He thought about asking where they came from, but it was such a strange detail to notice, and anyways, it was none of his business. She was good at her job, and that was all that mattered.
In fact, she was scarily good at her job. A week after hiring her (had it really been hiring? He wasn’t sure), he found himself, for the first time, with nothing to do for at least an hour.
“Where are all the assignments?” he asked, bewildered.
“Taken care of! And now you,” Diane said, steering him firmly over to a chair (how, exactly, she got hold of his hand he wasn’t sure), “are going to drink a cup of tea and do nothing for a few minutes.”
“What?” Death asked, but she was already gone.
She returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs. Strange, because Death didn’t remember keeping mugs around. Or tea. Or anything to boil hot water in.
He decided not to ask and took a mug from her.
Diane plopped herself into a chair as well (had those chairs always been here?) with a mug of her own and looked out at the night, steam wafting up from her tea like breath on an icy day. Her lashes were thick and dark, and they made her green eyes look deep, like…like he was spending too much time looking at her face instead of focusing on how, exactly, he was going to get up from this chair and back to work. It was very comfy, and the mug in his hand was pleasantly warm.
“Aren’t you going to drink it?” Diane asked.
Death stared into his cup. That was what you did with tea, right? Drink it? That was what Diane was doing. He shrugged and sipped it, mimicking his assistant and looking out the window at the night. He felt, somehow, that it was safer than looking at her.
She was twirling a flower (most likely pulled from her hair) in her fingers, pale pink and ruffly. It should have clashed with her ruddy curls, which were plaited in a braid today, but it didn’t. Somehow, everything she wore seemed to have been a part of her forever.
She noticed him looking and smiled, offering him the flower. “Carnation. Aren’t they pretty? I have an entire corner of them in my garden at home.”
He twirled the stem between his fingers like she had, watching the petals dance and spin.
“It’s very nice,” he told her, and offered it back.
She laughed and pushed his hand away. “Keep it. I have lots more.” Then she glanced at the clock, sighed, and threw the rest of her tea back. “Got to get back to paperwork. How much of it do you have, anyway?” she asked wryly, stretching a bit as she unwound herself from the chair.
“I don’t think it ever ends,” he said seriously, and wasn’t sure why she laughed again.
But, while confused and slightly offended, he had the strange thought that it was rather nice to hear. None of his old assistants had laughed like that. Or ever, really.
He shook the thought off and went back to work.

It was a month before he had any free time again. Lu- his boss had had more work than usual for him lately, and while he, of course, was Death, it didn’t mean that he was completely immune to feeling slightly…stretched sometimes. If he were a human, he would describe it as being tired.
But he was Death. He wasn’t tired.
So he wasn’t sure why he collapsed so totally and shakily when Diane next showed up to push him into a chair with a mug of something hot, this time coffee. “You’re working yourself too hard,” she scolded. “I see how much you do every day.”
“It’s my job,” Death said. “It’s fine.”
Diane cocked her head curiously. “Really? How do you get this job, anyway? Were you- Is there-” she gestured helplessly. “I mean, were you ever not Death?”
“No,” he said immediately.
Then, “I don’t know. It’s hard to…I can’t really explain. Yes. But the answer may as well be no.”
She waited patiently.
He gave in. “It’s like…I made a deal. For some reason. And as part of the deal, I got this job. It was…a bargain. I get something, I give something. This. The work I do.”
“Why? I mean, was it worth it?”
Death didn’t know how to answer. “I don’t remember,” he said finally. “It comes with the job. Memories, emotions - they just get in the way.”
He stared into his mug for a long moment.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if this was worth it.”
He didn’t see her get up from the chair, or the expression in her eyes.
But he heard the click of her heels as she walked away. And he’d felt the brush of her hand against his arm as she passed.
Somewhere within him, the heart that had stilled when he donned his new role twitched rebelliously, almost like it wanted to start beating again. Almost like the immortality surrounding him had thinned like an elastic band stretched too far, revealing the mortal still underneath.
He stood and walked away without finishing his coffee.
Maybe if he gave it enough time, his blood, like the mug, would cool again.
In the meantime, there was always work to do.

He tossed the withered carnation out a window.
It didn’t stop him from thinking of the laughter that had accompanied it.

“I’ve been thinking,” Diane said.
Death didn’t answer. He deliberately turned over another sheet of paper and clicked his pen.
A lock of red hair tumbled in his eyes, and he blinked, looking up in surprise.
Diane had her hands firmly planted on his desk, eyebrows raised. She looked as serious as he had ever seen her.
His fingers twitched to replace the lock of hair, but he squelched the very un-Death-like urge and raised his own brows.
She didn’t say anything further. She didn’t even stay for longer than a few seconds.
She left behind a rose that had tumbled out of her hair, and the phantom sensation of her lips against his.
He tried to ignore it, as he had ignored and shoved aside everything else.
His treacherous heart beat once, twice, three times before stilling again.
Death cradled his head in his hands, letting himself wonder for the first time if it really had been worth it.

The next few days were silent. He didn’t talk. Neither did Diane.
He didn’t ever see her go near his desk, but every day, there was a new flower. Today she’d left a fragile bell of a flower, crisp and white. A snowdrop.
(How, he wondered, had anything so perfect as a flower ever come into being?)
He didn’t hear the bell until it was too late.
Death sprang up, face paling. “Diane!”
It was the first time he had ever spoken her name, and she jumped, turning around. In her hand was a tiny silver bell.
“What are you-” His words tumbled and tangled together, choking him with fear and anxiety (emotions, he noted dully. How odd. He wasn’t supposed to have those anymore).
“What have you done?” finally slipped loose and escaped from his lips.
Her lips were set, just as serious as they’d been before she kissed him.
“What I need to do,” she said. Tears wobbled in her eyes. “I have - I have a sister. She’s not well. I was scared. There was a woman who came…and told me what to do…”
Death roared in fury, but it wasn’t directed at her.
Must he never be free from the threads of Fate? Always, she was there, torturing him, playing with him like a cat that caught a critter.
Diane continued, gazing into the distance. “I didn’t…I didn’t know what it’d be like. I thought it was- she said- it doesn’t matter. But I’ve got to do this.”
Mist was coalescing at the corners of his vision, wrapping around his limbs like ethereal spider webs, woven by a master weaver. Mocking laughter rang in his ears (so unlike the lovely sound of Diane’s).
“A deal’s a deal, you of all people should know that,” Luck purred.
The last thing he saw were Diane’s eyes, wide and pleading, unbelievably beautiful. Snowdrops lay crushed and broken around her feet.
But not the one in his hand.

The man was walking down a street. It was rather gray, and so was the sky, and so was the man, although he wasn’t more than middle-aged. It was more his demeanor that suggested the grayness.
He turned and looked up at a sign, painted with fanciful swirls and swoops, advertising the cozy atmosphere within.
THE TREE AND BEAN CAFE, it read.
He turned and went in, and the bell jingled, causing him to flinch.
“What can I get you, sir?” the barista inquired cheerily. Her apron was green. He liked the color green.
“I’ll take a coffee. A latte.”
He paid for it with a wallet he dug out of one of his pockets and then sat down with the steaming cup in his hands, watching people come and go. He felt strangely blank, as though he was missing something, but he couldn’t think what.
He’d felt something else in his pocket when he pulled out the wallet. Idly, he rifled around until he found it, holding it up curiously.
A flower. A white, fragile bell, bruised but still breathtakingly perfect.
A snowdrop.
He laid it on the table beside him and thought as he drank his coffee.
How strange.

NOVEMBER 5TH DAILY
No names used in this daily pertain to real people. They all remain in this daily and have no connection with real life whatsoever.

—-

Forget-me-nots are your favorite flower.
It makes sense since you told me it was because you miss a loved one.
It was one of the first things I learned about you before I learned about how you read the last page of a murder mystery because you can't bear the suspense, or that you own three phones to tide over your grubby little sister. You wore one, teased in your hair. The little blue petals, azure and gorgeous against the backdrop that is your golden-blonde hair, curled over your shoulders, flutter in the wind. I complimented you. You replied, with a cheerful, yet downcast tone, that it was to mourn someone lost. That you appreciated the compliment nonetheless, and then I frantically apologized. You said it was fine but I didn't feel fine.

—-

I smiled at you. Your blonde hair, the one you say is dry and crackly even though I tell you it's beautiful, the one you lament was reddish brown or a rich ebony in the mirror, it rustles in the wind like leaves. You say I've got a poet's heart, the kind of soul that befits a writer, whenever I describe you, outlined in the soft, golden glow of the sun as it begins to dip into the horizon, light pink staining ivory clouds as I clutch your hands, looking at the view. It's gorgeous. Just like you. Even with that bright pink that seems like it was formulated in a lab as bait for little seven-year-old girls.

—-

I wake up in the morning. I'm excited, with adrenaline pumping through my veins. It's our anniversary today. You say I've got a bad memory, but I've remembered your birthday, January 11th, where this year I brought you to that fancy restaurant you loved. Later that day, you told me you preferred quaint stuff and certainly not that outrageous receipt we received there. I remembered that. I've remembered Valentine's Day, February 14th, you know? I was there, outside your door, with pansies in my hand. I must have looked stupid, waiting for what, twenty minutes, so you could open the curtains and see my pining face on the sidewalk. Oh! That's another thing I learned about you. You always wait thirty minutes before you open the curtains. You never told me why. I think it's because you sleep in, but you always deny it. I'll have to ask you later, when your guard is down because I'll have swept you off your feet with the gorgeous beachside picnic I have planned. Don't worry, the prettiest sight there will still be you.

And now it's our first anniversary. I wake up before you, exit the room, and in a few minutes, you'll wake and I'll leave you to do your mysterious morning ritual. I go downstairs and prepare breakfast for the both of us. You won't be expecting it, since you always call me too lazy to do it yourself. I hope you're proud of me since I did it for both of us today.
It takes thirty minutes, obviously, and the bacon is getting cold, but it's finally around the time you finally go downstairs, and today you'll dressed in an outfit too fancy for the regular day you assumed I assumed we were having.
But haha, I've outsmarted you today.
Huh?
Where are you?
It's been forty minutes?
Are you taking extra time to get fancy, since it's a special day? You don't need to, gorgeous, you don't need anything to be the most beautiful woman alive.
I'll play this game, just for you.
It's been an hour since I woke up, where are you?
I'd go up to our room to make sure you were awake but you've got your little morning ritual.
A whole ‘nother hour has passed, I’m coming up, and-
Huh? Where are you?
I know you love jokes but this one seriously isn't funny.
Where are you?
Don't leave me.

Oh! Duh, I'm so dumb, you told me yesterday you were going to leave early to do something or other with your friends. I wake up at nine, so you probably got up at six. You've got so much willpower, I could never do that.
Meeting station, you probably texted me. That park we both love. Leave it to you to designate our anniversary destination even though I already did.
I don't really know what to do with the bacon, but you hate it when I don't finish it so I just kind of shove both of our's into my mouth, run out, lock the door- oh, grab the bouquet before I leave- and decide to bike to the park since it's so close and you love the environment too much to let me drive the car if you were here.
You're there, already, since even though you've got your morning ritual, you're surprisingly punctual.
I hold out the bouquet. Since you love flowers, I tried to find meanings for every flower I give you.
Pansies, just like on Valentine's Day, since they mean “you occupy my thoughts.” Peach blossoms, since you “hold me captive”, sunflowers since I adore you. Even wood sorrel, because you give me joy. You laugh because it's so corny but both of us love it.
I undo the bouquet to show you all the flowers.
Ambrosia. Carnation. Dandelions and dahlias. Roses, of course. You love them. It was so hard to assemble all of these, but I'd go to the ends of this earth for you, so it was obvious that I'd at least do this. While I tell you all the meanings that you surely know, I tell you about how much I missed you this morning, how much I panicked because I thought you disappeared or left me or were kidnapped or dead. I was so stupid, geez.
My smile, as I go through all the flowers, fades. It falls down, even though you always tell me to “flip my frown upside down!” It would look creepy, I tried to Photoshop it once.
One flower left, I tell you with pride.
You'll love it, it's so gorgeously blue, like your ocean-like eyes. It's small and dainty. I'd say it's just like you too, but geez, you pack a punch when a friend of yours is hurt. I love that about you too.
It's called a forget-me-not.
Love in absence.
My hands drift over the words OLIVIA HARRISON. My bouquet, now scattered about, rests at your grave's feet.
I eat a mint because my breath probably reeks of bacon.

I remember the vows I wished to make. I'd laid awake at night, while you were asleep beside me, imagining you in a lovely wedding gown. Imagining our vows, imagining my “poet's heart” coming up with these magical words that could never begin to describe the adoration I have for you. I would say, “till death do us part” but I suppose that was three months ago when I was young and foolish to believe that once the reaper's scythe came for us, we would be eighty-something, on our deathbed, with kids, maybe even grandkids, to watch us go.
But death didn't separate us, it broke us apart.
Because your body is dead, your soul left. You are shattered beyond repair.
And me.
I'm broken.

—-
Forget-me-nots are my favorite flower.
It makes sense since I told my closest friends it was because I miss a loved one.
It's one of the last things anyone ever learns about me after they learn about how I read the last page of a murder mystery because I can't bear to do it any differently, or that I own three phones because one of them was yours. I wear one, clipped on my favorite coat. The little blue petals, azure and yet sad against the backdrop that is my coat, dulled with age, loosely fitted onto my slow-growing shoulders, flutter in the wind. Some people compliment me. I never reply that it was to mourn someone lost. That I appreciated the compliment nonetheless, because I don't, and I hate it, and then I want them to frantically apologize.
I want you back, and sometimes I hear your voice, saying it was fine.
But I don't feel fine.

nov 5th
forget me not (love in absence), pansy (you occupy my thoughts),
rose (love), zinnia (thoughts of absent friends)
guess what! these are the same sillies from last session's flower daily <3

skye sighs, flipping the wooden sign from open to closed - come back to blossom haven florals soon!. it had started to pour around half an hour ago, the torrents of rain angrily hitting the asphalt outside. she highly doubted there would be any more customers for the day, so she drew the display window curtains and got to work cleaning slightly sooner than usual. the old vinyl in the corner spun out soft melodies as she wiped down the counter and changed the water of the flower buckets, a simple routine she’d gotten used to. more recently, marley would come over from the coffee shop to help her out if her shift ended early, after noticing how it was only her left to finish off evenings. even if they weren’t the most productive duo, she missed the company - currently, marley was off visiting family some ways away.
she straightens the bunches of colorful zinnia, making them look a little more presentable. there would be less work for tomorrow, that way. glancing over the entire shop to make sure everything was in place, skye flicks off the lights and turns to the door, keys jingling in the roar of rain outside. she pushes her hood up, cursing for not bringing a proper umbrella. the golden glow of street lamps reflected onto puddles ripples as she runs to her car, quickly scrambling inside.

as soon as she gets home, she hangs her jacket and apron on to the coat rack. she’s grateful for the warmth and comfort in here, and her cats weave around her legs, purring. almost immediately, her phone rings, and she smiles, quickly heading to her room. a basket of pansies sits on the windowsill, staring out into dreary gray clouds.
“hi marley!” she exclaims, flopping onto the mattress. her girlfriend laughs, and her heart nearly explodes from seeing her face (even if only through a screen). she looks gorgeous as always in a forget me not blue sweater, one of the few instances where she’s not wearing neutrals.
“excited to see me, are you?” she asks teasingly.
“and what if i said no?” skye rolls her eyes.
marley grins. “i’d know you’re lying. also, you’re home early.”
“the weather here sucks. it would be a thousand times better if you came back, though.”
“i’m so powerful that my very presence would be able to change the course of nature?” skye nods eagerly. “okay, sure. two more days, i promise - that’s literally so close. my cousins are annoying anyways, i miss you too.”
“sure,” she says, pouting. “you shouldn’t have left me in the first place.” they both burst into laughter, spending the next hour talking about any random things they could come up with.

two days later, skye finds herself waiting outside of the airport, a single rose in hand. she had made sure to choose the most perfect one from the shop, as fresh as it had been on the bush and petals smooth as butter. her eyes light up when she spots a familiar brown leather jacket, running in for a hug.
“hi!” she says excitedly, pulling away to hand marley the rose (still perfect).
marley giggles, “hey, i know what that one means.” she pulls an almost identical stem from her pocket, tucking it behind skye’s ear, who bursts into laughter.
“we’re so dramatic,” skye sighs, taking her hand as they walk to the car.
“i was only gone for two weeks,” marley smiles. “longest two weeks of my life, though.”
“whatever. welcome back!”
the clouds part to finally reveal the sun, its rays shining warmly onto the world.

extremely rushed and poorly written but:

Daily #5: flower daily
-astragalus (ur presence softens my pain)-

*drop*
the sound of a tear falling from my cheeks.
falling.
falling.
falling.
*drop*
the sound of another one.
racing.
racing.
racing.
*drop drop drop drop drop*
so many.
gushing.
gushing.
gushing.

I made no effort to wipe my tears.
let them fall.
let them fall so that they may soften my many scars. let them fall so they may bring life in the soil. let them fall on this accursed ground, so they may remember the /pain/ they cause me.

———-

He wrapped me in his strong warm arms and it was all ok again. He always makes it ok again. I only wish he could be there with me day and night, so the screams and nightmares may leave my head, and give me the divine peace i attain when he is around me.
If only.
But /of course/ life is cruel, of all people I should know. A primary victim to its abuse, my soul, mind and heart battered, the only thing keeping the shreds together, was /him/. And how I'm ever-so grateful.

———–

hey r u awake?
King
king
king
i summon u
king
King?!

yeh
wt
u woke me up man

im sorry

wt happened?

idk

*sigh*
u've got to stop doing that.

ik
im sorry

ily cya

DONT LEAVE!!

y?
im tired

u cant let me go 2 sleep
pls?!

*sigh*

sigh x2

sigh x50

sigh x100

sigh x100000

-u always make feel- -ill never be able to- -u mean the world-
ur the best man.

ik

=PPPP

————

I got the branch of astragalus and flattened it across the page, squeezing the book tight.

(10 weeks later)

I oponed the page of the book, remebering why i had put it there, a smirk acorss my face, i tore th page out and stuck it inside an envelope and sent it to king with a little message ‘ur presence softens my pain’.

429 words, juniper, fern, daisy


Winter was app roaching quickly and the three Hobbit sisters were growing increasingly worried about finding a place to live for the cold months of the year. Ever since their house has burned down and their parents had perished in the flames, Juniper, Fern, and Daisy had been on the run. Daisy was so young to be alone, young enough that she probably wouldn’t remember her parents as she grew older. The twins Juniper and Fern were determined to protect her with everything in them until they could do so no longer.
One day, just weeks before the snow would begin to fall, freezing the land, coating branches with ice, and spelling certain death for the poor girls, they stumbled upon a cabin in the woods. Inside lived a kindly hunter by the name of Eldar. Once upon a time he’d lived here along with his two sons, but they had since moved on and headed for life in the big city, leaving Eldar lonely, for he was too old to travel such distances.
The Hobbit girls had never seen a Man before, and it took them some time to get used to his great stature and the size of the things in his home. But Eldar was kind with them, let them take their time, and after only a few days, offered the girls a permanent home with him.
“Do you know what your names mean in the traditions of my people?” he asked the girls one day as they all sat around his fireplace. Juniper was reading, Fern was sketching in a book gifted to her by Eldar, and Daisy was half asleep on Juniper’s knee.
Fern looked up from her drawing and shook her head.
“Well then let me tell you,” Eldar said. “In the tradition of my people, flowers all come with meanings. And even though you girls are Hobbits I would say that the Human meanings of the flowers fit with your quite nicely.”
“What’s my name mean?” Daisy piped up, suddenly wide awake.
Eldar smiled. “Innocence.”
Daisy made a face and proclaimed, “that’s boring.”
“You may grow to appreciate it given time,” said Eldar.
Fern added a daisy to her sketch and wrote above it “innocence” in smooth sloping handwriting.
Eldar continued, “Juniper means “I confide in you,” and Fern means “concealed love.”
“That’s beautiful,” Juniper whispered, as Fern added their flowers to her drawing.
By the warmth of the fire and with the care of their new foster father, all three girls felt safe for the first time in almost a year.

November 5th: Flower Daily
Words: 323
Flowers used:
Dandelion- faithfulness
Gillyflower- affection
Xanthiums- rudeness

When I gave you my dandelion, you crushed it. My faithfulness lingered and broken on the floor never to be rediscovered. “I thought you loved me!” I would say. I thought you were mine and mine only. You were fake. You never loved me. You never cared for me. You did not care. I gave you all my gillyflower. All my love to you. All my affection to you. All my things for you. My heart for you. You still did not care. I tried my best to be there for you. You were never there for me. I made my commitment to provide for you. To give you everything I had for you. To give all you all your needs. All of the things you wanted. I figured it out. None it was me. You never wanted me. You never loved me. All your flowers were filled with xanthiums. The things you did showed your worthiness. All your action showed how rude and insulting you were. I was so stupid to look past your lies and your cheating. I was so naïve to think you loved me. I could blame myself in many ways but I will always remember what you did to me. All my h8 comes back. All my sadness rushes toward me. All the things I have been through just to realize you didn’t want me. I thought I needed you. I thought you were mine. I was wrong. I hope you understand the pain I have went through. The tears I have shed for you. The money I have spent for you. I hope to forget you but jt might be difficult. No one can forget their past and pain. No one can forget their trauma and their tears. I want you out of my head, but I cannot take you out. I try so hard everyday. The pain trails behind me as I try to say goodbye.

05.11.'24
I notice you often, you know. Even when I don’t mean to. It’s just, and you’ll think me crazy for this, but I can feel this force inside me, insisting me to look up when I hear your voice, glance behind me when I hear your steady footfalls, turn to face you as that innate sense inside me tells me you are close. The light scent of the pansies you thread through your hair, blue and gold amidst the dark brown. Not a day passes by without an obsessive thought of you, derailing any other ideas in my mind. And I know, you’ll be quick to jump to the conclusion of love. But I maintain it was not that – love was not the force in which you occupied my thoughts.

You are so pretty and funny and clever and wise. You have so, so many friends, and I see you all, laughing and talking in a large huddle, and you look so happy in the middle of the group. You are universally liked, it seems, always cheerful and with a kind word to say about everything and everyone. And, oh, but I can feel the envy unfurling in my chest like the delicate curved geranium petals you often press dry to gift to others. Of course, I have never received one of these gifts.

The fresh green hellebores surround me, a promise of toxicity of which I am respectful. The hellebore has chosen to survive, to continue, the very definition of what I am not. The hellebore is deadly, which perhaps is the reason why it is so often associated with madness. And surely, if I am the opposite of the hellebore, I am the opposite of madness? Or maybe that is the first sign of true madness. Heavens, I’ve used the word ‘madness’ far too often. When I see you, I flinch and I tremble. For what reason I am not so sure; yet I think – no, I know – that you are wary of me. You always approach me with a smile and invite me to your group – but no! I know it to be a trap. You are so perfect, and someone like me could not imagine being part of your solar system. I know, you see. I am not as silly as you think I am.

11/5- 707 words
❝ So slow down, sit down, it's new ❞

She could hear everything. Every single breath, every creak of furniture, every conversation happening. All at once, not one more clear than the other. All a muddled loudness that seemed to be pounding in her head. It was loud, oh so very loud. She took a shaky breath, curling even further into herself. It was loud inside her head too. Nonsensical strands of thoughts running through her mind at top speed. She wanted to cry, she wanted to disappear, she wanted to melt into the floor and never return. Anything that would get her away from this, anything that would just make her mind quiet for a second.
There had begun to be a loud murmuring in front of her, something she couldn’t quite discern. Why? Because it was loud loud loud. She felt someone grab her hands, she hadn’t even been aware they were shaking until the steadying presence of someone else’s grasp was there. She looked up, not having the right of mind to even pull away, it was loud.
She looked like some kind of prey animal, with that utter fear and panic in her gaze. She looked like she’d been filled with the primal instinct to run, but had no means to do so. Perhaps that was true in a way. She tightened her grip on the other girl’s hands, rubbing a thumb across the back of one of them softly.
“Hey, hey, can you hear me? It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here. What’s wrong?”
The girl stared up at her, hands beginning to shake again as she finally managed to get out a wobbly answer, “loud”.
“Try and focus on me, my voice or my hands. Come on, we’re going to go somewhere quieter.”
It was only when the two had reached the bathroom that Mel realized she hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself. She must have looked incredibly foolish, just swooping in and deciding something for someone she didn’t even know. She opened her mouth to speak, but went silent when the girl spoke first.
“Thank you, for that. I’m Amina, nice to meet you. I probably look really stupid, sorry.” There was a surprising assurance with the way she spoke, as though every word she said was up the upmost importance.
“No! You don’t look stupid. You’re pretty,” later she would wonder to herself exactly how that seemingly unrelated statement made its way into her speech, “I’m Mel, well, my full name is Melissa but I don’t like being called it. It’s no fun.”
Amina smiled at the last statement, and took one of her hands away, oh, we’ve been holding hands this entire time, to fiddle with the flowers in her breast-pocket.
“What are those?”
“Fuchsia and Juniper.”
“Do you like flowers?”
“Yeah! A lot, they’re pretty and they smell nice. And they always mean something.”
Mel’s eyes scanned the room, landing on a vase that happened to also hold flowers. She grabbed one and tucked it behind Amina’s ear.
“What’s this one mean?”
Amina’s face gained a light covering of pink “just something silly.”
“I like silly things. At least tell me what they are?”
“Peach blossoms. Nice flowers but they’re hard to get in our climate.”
Mel smiled, she liked this girl, with her strong words and quiet facts. “Well, when I get home I’m going to find a florist and ask them what they mean.” She puffed her chest with the statement and then giggled at Amina’s stricken expression. “You look like I’m going to go commune with the devil. I’m just going to go ask some guy what some pretty flowers mean.”
“He’ll think you’re coming on to him.”
“Oh? What’s it mean then? I can’t just preposition people all over the place, you’ve got to tell me what it means now!” She grinned.
Amina fidgeted with the folds in her clothes, “you hold me captive,” her reply came slow and surprisingly unsure. Mel didn’t like that, didn’t like the unconfident tone her voice had taken.
“Well! I like that.” She hopped off of the place she had taken on the counter, “consider me captive. I’ll see you later, Amina.” And with that she smiled, finally let go of Amina’s other hand, and strode out.

The sky is red. Red like flowers, maybe red like the sunrise. Never the red of blood.
The shades of sunset bloom across the horizon. Red from the amaranth, signifying what I had lost in my journey for eternity. Pink from the rhododendron, showing me its beauty in the form of a danger passing me by. Nightshade flowers made up a serene purple, the magic of what I had gained in my infinite death.
Words twisted and castles spun in the sky. We are an infinite plain, floating idly by while the universe is born and destroyed a thousand times over.
We will always lose, but losses are not counted in full. The infinite field of flowers in which I reside is nothing more than fantasy in which the desperate become isolated from the worlds they create.
Time is spinning, sprinting away from the fate it is always receiving. Stars collide and suns crash into worlds, destroying the one thing we can value above all else.
Consciousness.
Life can be found in the depths of hell. Worlds can be spun anew, recreated, but we cannot bring people back from the dead.
Never will be able to. Never would be allowed to.
One time a stranger met me in this world, and we played a game of chess. It took years, maybe more. Could’ve been a millenia in the world where the sun never finishes setting.
Eventually, I won. My queen was the only player left alive on the board.
She still is. My queen, supreme ruler of all of our consciousness, is the only person left alive in our own separate world, one mortals cannot ever hope to comprehend.
We live alone in a space where nothing defines everything, where flowers bloom and never die.
We rule with an iron fist.

The winters were colder here, and Moss fluffed up his fur against the chill. Snow blanketed the ground, and no flowers bloomed between the pine trees the way they did in the forest where he was born.
Still, this was his home now. The trees and the lake were as familiar as old friends, and he knew every pawstep of these mountains. He didn’t regret leaving. The shadows that followed him were softer, quieter against the snowy ground. The frost was gentle, soothing his long-wandering paws.
And yet. Memories of his past would drift through his mind from time to time. Good memories, mostly. The friends that had gone off on adventures of their own, the landscapes carved out against different horizons. And the flowers, of course.
Ruby had always loved the hyacinth that grew wherever it pleased, boldly and beautifully. In a way, she was the same, always blazing as bright as the sun, going bravely into danger. When she broke her wing and learned she could never fly again, she didn’t let that stop her. She only forged ahead even more passionately than before.
Moss could guarantee that wherever she was now, she had a garden. The others could have the skies. She’d have her paws dug into the ground, drawing life from the rich earth, nurturing plants as bright and beautiful as herself. Whether they were fruits and flowers, or just some stray seed she had scavenged up, she would love them with all her heart, as she loved everyone and everything around her.
Moss missed the warmth of that love, but he knew he still held it somewhere deep inside of him, a flame that couldn’t be extinguished by any winter storm. He smiled.
He remembered Wander, too, the one who lifted his shining eyes to the stars and dreamed. Moss had gotten to fly together with him in those dreams on many a clear night, finally landing on the highest tree branch or in a clump of lucerne, feeling more alive than he’d ever felt before.
Wander, true to his name, had been the one to suggest a journey.

Daily #5
11/5/2024
382 words

A/N: Is this canon to Azalea and Elora's story? I have no idea LOL- (Azalea and Elora were the protagonists in my March '24 leader app!)

Flowers: Periwinkles (memory, friendship), yellow roses (friendship, love), and zinnias (thoughts of absent friends)

It was the third time Elora had been able to go onto land when they wandered through the forest, filling the silence in between the chirps of birds with gentle conversation. It was nice to see Azalea again, even if it was still a bit strange to see the person who she'd been writing letters to for months on end. After reading words for so long, it was nice to see her friend behind those. Lea had invited her to come down while the flowers were in bloom.

They'd walked around, Azalea pointing out her favorite plants and stopping to pick flowers. For her journal, she'd said. Elora had stopped when they reached the large rocks, but Azalea just laughed and grabbed her hand, tugging her to the side. Next to the rocks, behind a few overgrown trees, she was led into a field dotted with blue.

“They’re periwinkles. Friendship!” Azalea handed her the pastel blue flower, grinning.

~~

Elora had hoped to invite Azalea to the clouds, but they hadn’t been able to get permission from the council, so she went back down for the next visit. They’d gone to Azalea’s house and spent their time learning the differences between their homes. The plants and life that filled her home was unlike the stoic shifting white of Elora’s. They hadn’t spent quite as long together as they had liked, but the promise of more visits to come softened the bittersweet goodbyes.
“Oh, here!” Azalea said, rushing to grab a vase with a yellow rose. “From my house to yours.”

~~

“Lora, a letter!” her mom had said, making Elora break into a grin as she received the paper.
She’d hastily opened the letter, eager to read what news Lea had on her newly started garden. A dried pink flower sat in the middle of the unrolled paper.

Dear Elora, the letter read.

The first flowers have finally bloomed and I had to send one to you. This is a zinnia. I don’t think I’ve shown you one before, but it means thoughts of absent friends. Seems pretty fitting to send to you, don’t you think?

Elora gingerly placed the flower down on her desk as she sat down at her desk to read the rest of the letter. Yes, a zinnia was perfect.

Daily 5 || 395 words
Oleander - Beware
Nightshade - Sorcery/Dark Thoughts
Foxglove - Treachery

The Nightshade Market.
A figure dashed through the dangerous alley, cloak covering her appearance. She needed to get to a specific store as soon as possible for this plan to work, and she needed to get there fast.
A paw reached out and grabbed her shoulder, the stranger whipping around with a hiss. “Why so fast,” the random creature said with a grin. “Hiding something?”
The figure lifted her head, indigo eyes piercing into their soul as she pulled a necklace out. Within a crystal on the end was a single flower, nearly hot pink with five perfect petals.
An oleander.
The fierce figure faltered, stepping away from the stranger as she turned and ran away. She was Oleander, the notorious criminal, and she had a job to do.
She finally came to a stop at a booth selling balls of yarn. If the other booths in the Nightshade Market weren’t selling mysterious items filled with dark magic, this one certainly was.
A single strand could give one powers they could never dream of, and the more colors one wore on their form, the more powerful they would be. The catch? An inch of yarn required one to constantly drain money into the owner’s account, and many average people found themselves in debt and pushed into horrible criminal organizations just to have a comfortable source of power.
“Well, well, well, back to pay me?” the owner said, unafraid of the cat-lynx before her. “Care to buy some more? You still have more colors to add to your collection…”
Oleander smiled, a dark, evil smile. “Why, yes, I would.” She leaned close, the two’s noses almost touching. “I’ve decided I want to complete my collection.”
“Oh?” The owner grinned. “And where’s your payment?”
Oleander glanced above at two shadowed figures on top of the booth. One gently rang a bell, one shaped like a foxglove flower…
…She then hit the owner in the face.
She stumbled backwards as the two figures burst through the roof, holding her down as Oleander shoved all of the yarn in the booth into the bag. Nobody came to help the owner, knowing Oleander’s abilities.
They were in and out in under a minute.
On a building, the three divvied up the yarn amongst themselves. No more constant pressure for unlimited power…and they were ready to unleash chaos among the world.

in 300 words, write a piece that includes at least 3 different flowers, incorporating their unique meanings into your work

—

Many things were constant in Leo’s life.

His grades? Consistently exceptional. His friends? Consistently boring. His mind? Constantly hungry.

That was why he liked the walks to high school- no two were ever the same. Despite taking the same seaside route every day, there was always something happening- the bookstore would be staging a signing, or the craft marketeers would be rioting. Leo supposed that he was lucky that there was such a source of stimulation in his life; without the constant reminder of where he was and who he was to become, he wasn’t sure that he would have been able to function.

On this particular Thursday, Leo dragged his feet as he ambled down the aging cobbles. He was in no rush to get to class. Sure, the idea of his education was great to him- new knowledge, new information just waiting to be consumed- but in reality, it fell far short of Leo’s soaring expectations. Why must he sit and be lectured on photosynthesis and the like when the whole world was waiting to be ruled?

Shouting clashed with the sound of the crashing waves onto the pebbled beach. This street was a charming one- picturesque, the kind of thing you’d see on a postcard. Traditional English shops lined the wide pedestrian road, their contents overflowing onto the street. A few steps down, the beach began- a wide expanse of yellow and grey stones, flecked with ice-cream carts and towel stands. Leo glanced towards one of the butchers- a woman was storming menacingly through the peeling white door, leaving it swinging on its hinges. She brandished a kitchen towel in the direction of a seedy looking man. Inwardly, Leo smiled. See? These were the things he liked to witness- small, meaningless events, inspiration towards his greater dreams.

In the distance, bells chimed. Shoot. He was going to be late. Striding briskly, Leo refocused on his destination, ignoring the calls of shop vendors. Just get through this day, and then you can continue pursuing your purpose. Brow furrowed as he rounded the corner, he brushed past the flower boutique’s display- an arrangement of osmunda ferns and king-cups.

—

Many things had changed in Leo’s life.

School was no longer the pointless breeze it had once been- it required his attention and effort. This fact concerned Leo. He wasn’t used to it.

Despite years passing, Leo felt no closer to his aspirations. The aches of ambition were still there, but had seemingly dulled, clouded by the constant, overwhelming work of college. Who had said that university was fun? Well, they were clearly wrong. It was nothing but one task after another, a new demand launching itself upon him as soon as a task was completed.

Don’t get it wrong, Leo’s grades were still exceptional- he would never sink below his perfect standards. What would he be, after all, if not for the best student in the class? He had no companions, no social reputations to precede him.

Shaking his head, Leo ignored the lapping of the ocean and the bustle of the shops around him as he trekked to class. At least the university was next to his old high school- he’d come to rely on these walks. The consistency was something he needed in his life right now.

As he turned the corner, brushing past the flower boutique’s display, the leaves of clovers and magenta fuchsia blossoms tugged at Leo’s sleeve.

—

Nothing was as it should be in Leo’s life.

He should have been famous, rolling in money. He should have left this town long ago. Instead, here he was- walking the same road he had for a decade.

It wasn’t even the fastest way to his work- why did he still do this?

Shaking his head, the creases between his brow more prominent than ever, Leo sighed as he brushed past the Indian Pink blooms on the corner.

Alan stared at the blank canvas on his screen, mind just as blank as the whiteness before him. He hesitantly moved his cursor to the color selector, picking a bright red. He then moved his mouse back to the middle of the canvas. He paused before drawing a circle, and then a line going straight down from that, and then two lines coming from the top and two more coming from the bottom.

A stick figure.

Simple enough.

An easy fight.

He had long since beat Victim. He had done that without breaking a sweat.

He had fought similar sticks figures, and they were boring—too easy for him.

Alan right-clicked the stick figure, cursor clicking on the “convert to symbol” button. A small menu popped up. The place where he was supposed to input the name stared up at him.

He first typed in “BEAST” and then “killer” but those had been too easy as well. And then he remembered the next level, the one that his friend had told him not to try unless he had a death wish for his computer.

“The Dark Lord”

“OK”

The bright red stick figure stretched his arms and his back, seemingly unaware of what was going to happen to him.

Unfortunate.

Alan switched his cursor to the drawing tool without much thought, drawing a simple weight, like he had done with Victim. The Dark Lord glanced up at it before pointing his hands at it and burning it away with fire. Alan moved the mouse away.

Okay.

That was new.

The stick then used said fire to propel himself up and towards the mouse, which he kicked, slamming it into the side of the window. His shoulders shook slightly as he tilted his hollow head up, in an almost cocky motion. This was funny to him? Just a game?

Well, it was to Alan as well.

He moved his mouse across the screen, grabbing the stick by his neck and slamming him into the taskbar. His body went limp from the impact for a split second before he stood up again. He stamped his little foot into the task bar, and without warning, random tabs started to appear and forced Alan’s cursor away from what he was about to draw.

He summoned some sort of fiery energy ball before throwing it towards the cursor, which Alan easily dodged, he had seen it a million miles away. But what hadn’t been able to dodge it was the animation window itself. A large hole was burned through it, revealing his plain cloud wallpaper. The stick suddenly perked up using his fire to launch himself through it. Alan went to grab him but missed when the cursor was kicked away again. Fortunately (or, maybe unfortunately) the cursor minimized the window, letting Alan watch the stick slam into his app shortcuts.

Firefox was launched into the side of the screen before it sat up, snarling at him as smoke began to escape its mouth. AOL stood up, grabbing a paintbrush and a pen from the Paint shortcut, brandishing them before pointing the paintbrush at the Dark Lord.

Said stick looked up, grabbing the pencil and charging in to have a drawing utensil fight with the fellow stick.

Alan paused before opening up solitaire. His apps would be fine.

He had managed to finish the match when his Anti-Virus had captured the stick.

Easy enough. He didn’t bat an eye this time! (Maybe he did once, but it was fine. He won, anyways.)





Alan’s pop-up blocker, the Dark Lord broke loose.

He had tried making another stick, the Chosen One, to defeat it, capture it again. But they teamed up against him.

His computer blue-screened.

If only he knew what would happen next.

Word War
word count - 159 words

As I was walking past the palace doors I noticed the light glimmering out from one of the castle rooms. It had been abandoned for quite some time with ivy growing on the sides of the wall. I couldn't even begin to imagine who'd want to be leaving in such a place when it was at this state. Cobwebs gleamed in the moonlight, and the whimsical webwork shone for miles. I knew they were around.. watching my every move. But I also knew that this was all just a test, to see who would take the cup once and for all. As I entered through the doors I heard cries of joy come from the main banquet hall. The party had begun. In the ballroom, an assortment of foods and drinks were being served and I couldn't help but get a tad bit jealous at the charcuterie boards that were carefully placed in the room. It was perfect until