Diphylleia Grayi

• Rose Bibby, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2018

“Hey, where did Phil go?” A confused voice melded with the soft patter of rain on the windows. A pair of misty grey eyes stared past the glass and into the dreary world outside.
“He’s right by the windo-“
“He’s not there!”
“Don’t be silly, he’s...right there...where did he go?”
An annoyed huff of breath filtered into his ears, yet he hardly registered the sound of bickering voices.
“Well, shouldn’t we go find him?!”
“He obviously didn’t want to be here, so why bother?”
“Because he’s our friend!”
The words were muffled as his head lolled against the icy barrier between him and his nemesis. The rain.
“Honestly, once this rain calms down, we should just go! He clearly doesn’t want to spend time with us if he keeps randomly disappearing like this!”
“No! I…he - I bet he has a reason to disappear! He’s our friend…he wouldn’t leave without telling us if it wasn’t important…”
“You don’t sound very sure about that.”
“Shut up! You’re acting like you don’t even like him!”
“I don’t! He’s weird! He always daydreams and disappears and says strange things! I… I don’t like him. I’m only friends with him because my mum feels bad for him!”
“Then go! Go away and stop being mean! He doesn’t need you! He…he has me, and I bet he’ll tell me where he goes when you’re not here!”
“Fine! See if I care!”
He blinked slowly when angry footsteps penetrated his hazy mind, his body sagging with an unseen burden.
“Ugh! She makes me so mad! How rude! I’ll just go find him myself.”
A second pair of footsteps echoed through the small room, thudding like the raging beat outside.
He slid from his position on the windowsill, rocking slightly on his feet as his eyes strayed to the discarded belongings that kept him company.
A thick, tome like book laid open on the creaky ground, and as he drew nearer, a pang shot through his chest. A small, delicate white flower was depicted across the page, and in flowing calligraphy lay the words ‘Diphylleia grayi, the skeleton flower’. He gave a small yelp when his foot made contact with the book, sending shocks of pain up his leg. Stupid book, he thought. Stupid flower, stupid rain, stupid curse!
A bitter cry tore through the noise of pelting raindrops as he threw himself to the floor, hands clenched in front of him. Resentful tears made their way down his cheeks. He hated this life, this half-life he had resigned himself to.
Drained, he lay on the hard ground, tear stained cheeks glistening in the pale light, praying for the rain to stop, so that maybe then, people would see him again.