The Flower

• Brooke Boon, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2021

The crevasses between her winkles drew droplets of sweat as she grasped the paper envelope, she placed her small delicate hand underneath the envelope as gravity drew the seedlings down. Their hands gathered dirt as the hole drew deeper, she used her whole-body weight to press down the piles of dirt.
“This flower will grow just like you, don’t let anyone ruin your worth, you are a strong woman, you will bloom just like this flower.”
The flower grew to 10cm tall.
Her mother was gone. The sound of sirens filled her head, she remembered her mother’s dry, frail hand easing grip as the monitor let out a long ear-piercing beep. There had been an accident She was with her grandma when the dreaded call occurred, she remembered the words ‘car, hurt, accident and crash’ before she let out an unlawful scream.
The flower grew to 20cm tall.
Thoughts rushed through her head, dark thoughts. The constant bullying consumed her; she couldn’t take it anymore. Just because she was pretty, just because she was a girl, it doesn’t mean they need to do this to her. Her eye was as black as the night sky, she cried and cried as blood came pouring out of her nose. She was being treated like a nobody, like she had no power, like she was nothing. Ever since her mother died all the boys at her school acted like they were superior, like she was a housewife from the 1950’s. She couldn’t take it anymore.
The flower began to blossom.
The sound of footsteps edged closer and closer, ‘bang,’ she collapsed into her desk, ‘Dumb blonde, barbie, softy’ echoed through her head.
“Come to my office. Now.”
Her legs trembled as she lowered her skeletal body towards the rickety, cold seat.
“You are a distraction.”
She feared the words that would come next.
Her boss’s lips moved in slow motion to the words “You are fired.”
The flower died.
The leaves were rustling and the sun scorched the ground, she rocked in her chair while breathing in the fresh air. She starred at her wilting flower, then suddenly, she understood.
The flower wasn’t just a flower, it was a symbol of strength, beauty, and empowerment, it was a symbol of what it meant to be a woman. Her mother wanted her to be strong, but she couldn’t just tell her, she needed to see it, she needed to understand it.
She laid back into her rocking chair with the words her mother spoke years before running through her head.
‘This flower will grow just like you, don’t let anyone ruin your worth, you are a
strong woman, you will bloom just like this flower.’
She never understood what her mother had meant by these words, she had spent nights just thinking, pondering these words, and trying to put it together.
‘You will bloom just like this flower’ was one she didn’t understand before, but now she does. She needed to bloom just like the flower, she needed to grow mentally, grow into a strong woman just like her mum.