The Flower

• Rosanna Graham, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2017

The city was buzzing with a steady rhythm. Cars of every colour, zipping around, as if they had a purpose beyond our comprehension. Stopping at every yellow sign with a black number were busses. Inside, there was low lighting and unsympathetic claustrophobia, along with labourers of most kinds: Public servants, with sunken faces and big, black circles around their slowly closing eyes, derived of sleep, eyes drooping to stare at their phones. Construction workers, as proud lions, began bragging about their accomplishments, wearing of dirt and mud on their face.
A slow stream of office staff was flowing out from the high-rise buildings, blocking traffic in their wake. Horns from cars were blaring, as if the workers would understand. This was their rush hour.
The dirty, polluted smell from the factories and vehicles was suffocating, heavy and most of all, obscuring the sight of the pedestrians, who were walking right along the road, like they were their own cars. Lights from the street were flickering each and every moment. As if it was a magic trick, the pedestrians would disappear from under the light, hidden by the veil of darkness and by some magic, they would appear under the next light.
All of them. No matter what it might be. Even, if it was to step over the bounds of humanity.
A high pitched siren broke the rhythm of the city. There was now a new tempo. Cars stopped to let the red and blue lights fly past. However, the car was soon out of sight and out of mind. Each and all continued as if it never happened and were oblivious to the terror that the lights brought.
The red and blue lights made a sharp turn down a small alleyway. The siren suddenly ceased its merciless screeching.
The alleyway was old, rarely used by the pedestrians and out of the way. No one would use it if they had a choice, and that’s what made it perfect. It looked like time had stopped. The people watched on, frozen, from the sheer horror.
The Police had set up a perimeter using the black and yellow tape, that belongs in TV shows, not in real life.
You can never un-see anything. Once seen, it’s forever there.
Surrounded by policemen and women, was what looked like a sweet, young girl. She seemed asleep, laying on her side on the footpath. The lamp above her flickered, as if it too, was wondering what was wrong with the girl. Trying to get a closer look between the policemen and women, the lamp finally decided to shine its light on her as well, to at last see what was wrong with the sleeping girl. On her white blouse, just above the heart, was a pretty, blooming crimson flower.