The Flower

• Lallie Schmider, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2010

Have you ever stopped, turned back, and looked at the damage that you have created? Have you ever resisted something that could change the world and its ways? I personally have resisted many things, but the world never seems to change. Every year we get older, but when it comes to death we all think it will be a disaster.

However, every day a flower blooms, its lifeline is short and quick; one day it’s blooming as big as a star staring at the sun and the next day the flower falls gently down onto the moist brown soil.

The feelings built when I first saw him, his dark features were luring me closer to him every day. His dark but only tanned skin looked as smooth as a marble stone, his eyes were as dark as a moonless night, and he was your average knight in shining armour. However, the only problem was that I wasn’t one of those girls who get the things that they want. Those days when he was just metres away from me, I would earn those stolen glances that would push my heart to the limit and make it race one hundred kilometres per hour.

Have you ever sat there, searching for that one person, and when you find him or her, they are looking straight back at you? Split from my group of friends, I decided I would spend one lunch on my own, not in the music room practising the piano, but outside in the open sky, with the rays of sun shining down onto my face burning my skin ever so lightly. That lunch, I walked around looking for someone to talk to, that was until I saw him sitting there all by himself, minding his own business.

If I had the courage to go over and talk to him, I would have, but instead I sat away from him, obviously struggling to have one peep in his direction. I had to look at him, I had to see him before the bell went off. Taking a deep breath, I counted...3...2...1.

Her hair was as gold, as my grandmothers ring, it was styled to make her face seem smaller to the two sets of eyes that were aimed at her. His face lit up when he saw her walking in his direction. She walked gracefully to his side, to be greeted by one big grin and a heart-warming hug.

Picturing me in her place was a hard thing to do, as I wasn’t like her in any way, my hair wasn’t blonde, it was a dark brown, my hair couldn’t be styled like that unless I went to one of those professional hair dressers. I was feeling broken in only one place… one dead flower, one broken heart.