The Flower Of Hope

• Anna Proctor, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2014

I ‘m in a place of pure destruction, my senses are overwhelmed. I can see buildings fallen into dark, lumpy ruins and grubby children the size of sticks, fading into nothingness. I can hear the tumultuous rumble of thunder, the wailing of children and the sounds of planes flying over head. The smell is the worst, revolting musty smoke is clogging up my nose and throat turning my breathing uneven and raspy. What can I feel? Nothing. The cold has numbed my fingers, turning them into ice blocks which I am afraid might snap off at any second. I can hardly believe this is the same place in which I was so happy just days ago.
I force my mind to reel itself back to before, when the world was a spectrum of bright, happy colours. Where reds, oranges, pinks and greens showered the world and every day was a bulb waiting to bloom into a beautiful flower, full of beauty and hope. Then they invaded. They entered our territory as if it was already their own. With their thunderous tanks and smart khaki uniforms they came and created havoc. Before long the whirl of plane engines had blocked out the sounds of children singing merrily. The stench of smoke overpowered the sweet perfume of the flowers. The feeling of dread and despair replaced the usual lingering happiness.
Over time the reds, oranges, pinks and greens faded into dreary charcoals and greys. The place I had grown to know and love was turned upside down by the insanity of war.
I look around at the horrific devastation and tears start pouring down my face as I cover my eyes and imagine the world as it was before. When I dare to peek out of my fingers I notice that in the midst of all this dreadful wreckage remains a single pink flower standing tall and proud, a symbol of hope and dreams. Slowly, I believe that this was the storm before the rainbow and that eventually the world will once again be painted in colour.