#re-drafted

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Wilted Flowers

  Poppy gazed out of the window, watching the snowy winter scene unfold on the usually quite street of her home town.  Her lips curled into a smile as the young children played joyfully in the heavy snow, their coats caked in soggy white mush, their little round noses resembling baby tomatoes.  They had not a care in the world, and Poppy was envious.

  She was forced back to reality when a steaming cup of coffee was set down on the table in front of her.  She smiled and thanked her server in a daze, her daydreams still lingering.  “No.” She whispered softly to herself.  She must not go back to over thinking everything in her life.  She’s being silly, becoming jealous of a group of cheerful children.  She took a quick sip of her coffee, knowing full well that it would burn her tongue, yet was unpleasantly surprised when she felt the sting on the tip of her tongue. 

  She set the mug back down on the table and sighed.  She watched her drink swirl in the mug as she tried to close her thoughts in and keep them from running rampant and ruining her.  She felt as if she was harbouring Pandora’s Box, and that she must keep the box closed at all times in order to keep her sanity, unwilling to release her thoughts and emotions.  Squeezing her eyes shut, she struggled to clear her head.  She decided to distract herself by watching the café staff, smiling at every customer as if they were a dear friend.  They seemed to find it so easy to go into autopilot and wear a smiling mask.  Or perhaps they were just genuinely happy and friendly people.  Poppy often forgot that most people weren’t burdened like she was, forever trying to shake herself awake to focus on simple tasks.  Her thoughts engulfed her far too often.

  Before she knew it, she was swallowed up by her thoughts.  Visions of her home swam into view, a ringing in her ears grew louder and louder as her senses came to alert.  The ringing dulled as she took a step forward, other sounds now registered.  She heard her Father humming to himself as he ironed his dress shirt.  Her Mother twirled in, showing off her new dress bought specially for her youngest daughter’s birthday, the silky blue fabric shaped her body nicely and made her look younger paired with a sweet smile.  She asked Poppy why she wasn’t dressed yet, slightly distressed as they were leaving for the restaurant in just fifteen minutes!  Poppy simply stood there, incapable of forming a reply.  She was saved from having to think up an answer by a flash of long golden hair, rosy cheeks and skin like a porcelain doll.  Poppy stared at the young girl, her sister now of ten years old.  Little Daisy smiled up at her and stared towards her to bring her into an embrace.  This was a usual occurrence, as Poppy and Daisy were close for sisters with a seven year age gap, but something deterred Poppy  from taking her sister into her arms in a warm hug.  With every step the younger girl took, she changed.  She was morphing into something unknown, something gruesome.  Her skin paled to a pasty grey and her eyes sunk in her sockets, she slumped forward like a wilted flower, her lips turned from sweet pink to icy blue, the only thing missing was the grey hospital gown.  When she finally stood in front of Poppy, only an inch between them, Daisy was a morbid sight.  Before Poppy, Death stood in the place of her sister.

  With a jolt, Poppy opened her eyes to find herself sitting in the café.  Her coffee was cold.  She shook her head and made to brush her hair out of her eyes, but her hand stopped when she discovered a wetness on her cheek, tears still trickling down her soft skin.  She quickly wiped the tears away as she heard someone approaching her.  She looked up when she was confident that her face was dry, however she knew the redness in her eyes would give her away.  The waitress was standing with a sympathetic smile and asked, “Can I get you anything sweety?  Another coffee perhaps?  It looks like you could do with a nice hot chocolate!”  Poppy nodded her head and forced a smile, her head still reeling from her daydream.  She looked at the waitress as she noted down her order on a small pad, she had sweet mahogany curls and large brown eyes, she wore her simple uniform with a navy apron to cover it, she was a pretty girl wearing a completely average outfit, couldn’t be more than a few years older than Poppy.  But something caught her eye as the girl stooped to pick up the cold cup of coffee, a glint of silver.  She wore a very simple silver brooch on her apron, the silhouette of a daisy.  Poppy’s false smile froze on her face, her eyes locked on this piece of jewellery.  It was almost identical to the one her sister wore constantly for years.  The waitress turned and made her way back to the counter, but the image was branded into Poppy’s vision.  She closed her eyes, but the outline of the shape was still there, it was like when you look at the sun for a moment and then close your eyes and the shape is still there, it had burned into the inside of her eyelids and embedded in her sight. 

   Poppy woke in a daze and stretched out, her back aching from sleeping in the too small bed that the hospital provided for family members that wished to stay with their loved ones overnight.  She sat up slowly and looked over to her right.  There she lay, her darling sister, where once a beautiful child that glowed with delight lay, whose laughter filled a room like melodic chimes, now lies a frail, skeletal being who struggles to raise her arms, the beeping of her heart rate replaced her laughter.  Poppy watched her chest rise and fall unevenly, her skin was sallow and pasty, her eyes were sunken into her sockets and her skin clung to her bones, no sign of fat or muscle was visible.  Poppy swallowed hard as her eyes wandered to the tubes projecting themselves from beneath her pale skin, keeping her alive.  This saddened Poppy, because although these tubes were keeping her sister alive, Daisy wasn’t really alive at all.  She was miserable, physically and mentally exhausted and incapable of much beyond a small smile and a mumble of croaked speech. She was nothing but a ghost of the girl she used to be.  The only thing that gave her a scrap of hope was the way her eyes looked.  When Daisy opened her eyes, it was clear that the girl she used to be was still under there somewhere, fighting to be free, clinging on to see the next day.  Those sparkling blue eyes were Poppy’s symbol of hope, she would think back to sunny days in the garden where they would both play happily, remembering her tenth birthday, when they all dressed up to go out for a meal as a family.

  Poppy watched her sister deteriorate day by day, her condition getting worse until she resembled a zombie, and was force fed through a tube down her throat.  She held poor Daisy’s frail hands while she slept, keeping her touch gentle like a feather, fearing that her fingers could snap like twigs if she put any amount of pressure on them.  It was horrific.  Poppy couldn’t stand another day of it.  Then one day, the beeping stopped altogether.  Daisy’s eyes did not open and show that she was still there under this skeletal figure, her fingers were lifeless and cold, she was gone. 

   Poppy thrashed herself awake, tears once again streaked down her face, this time her makeup followed.  She stood quickly and slammed some money down on the table quick as a flash.  She didn’t bother to wait for her change, or for anyone to even notice that she intended to pay now; she just knew that she must leave now.  She couldn’t stay here, not in this town where her sister’s ghost shadows’ her every move.  If a simple brooch can have such and effect on Poppy, how will she cope with staying in this town?  She scooped up her coat and left the café, tugging on her coat as she went.  As she walked at an alarming pace, she wondered hopelessly if she would ever be safe from her horrific thoughts again, or if she will be forever haunted by images of her poor sister of only ten years old.