Can You Smell The Flowers?

• Lyla Atkin, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2021

Skin against damp grass. Flowers shining a slick scarlet. My body ached, my brain a slow, dumbfounded haze. Rivulets of blood snaked down from wounds, draining, the world a spinning top. Still, I was in a better state than Delphy.
I think she’s dead. When I dragged myself from the wreckage of her friend's Toyota Camry, she was slumped in the driver's seat, her head resting against the wheel. The car had been mutilated, debris attached to a crumpled frame. I was lucky that I hadn’t been knocked unconscious, considering that I was strapped into the passenger's seat when we collided with the tree.
I took strained breaths, a metallic, rust-like taste lingering in my mouth. The stench of smoke clogged my airways. I tried to turn my gaze to the car, but pain overpowered me and the world heaved, darkness filling my vision.
{The field was just as entrancing as everybody said. It was true, I could tell Delphy came here frequently. She was reading, sheltering from the sun under the old gum. I understood what the guys at school saw in her. She looked so pretty, the dappled sunlight from the branches sending shadows across her face, her blue eyes framed under round reading glasses. She saw me and sat up, taking off her glasses and putting her book down. Bright wildflowers decorated the grass, and from them she had made a messy crown. It hung limply around her head, delicate against her long blonde hair.
‘Corvus, stop moping around and come here!’ She laughed, her braces shining as the light hit them. Her grin was contagious, and I ran under the tree, flowers brushing against my school shorts. Delphy held up another flower crown and smirked.
‘This one’s for you!’ She cried. I tried to protest, but being Delphy Halifax, my black curls ended up falling over petals. Sighing contentedly, she flopped back into the flowers, arms spread, her eyes reflecting the sky. Adjusting my glasses, I lay down beside her, resting my arms behind my neck, watching the sluggish clouds. She observed me from the corner of her eyes with that bemused look of hers. I turned my head, gazing at her quizzically. She shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, then reached out and grasped a dandelion from the grass. She sniffed it, before tucking it into her hair. Her eyes closed, peaceful.
‘Can you smell that...?’}
As I regained consciousness, the smell of gas that flooded my nose made me retch. I realised I was lying under the tree the way I had with Delphy, many years ago. This field was so full of memories. I stretched my scratched fingers and grasped my shaking hand around a stem. I ignored the torment my muscles threatened as I lifted it to my face, my blood smearing across the blue petals. My arm rested against my chest, her grin shining from the darkness.
{'...Can you smell the flowers?’}