Flower

 She sits.

Smelling the lone rose in her hand.

Her face hidden.

She doesn't make a sound.

She kicks her legs, swinging the dilapidated chair she sits upon.

In front of the destroyed house.

As you walk, she hears nothing.

Not you, not anyone.

You walk in front of her, and poke her shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?"

She looks up.

And you wish you hadn't disturbed her.

Her eyes are gray.

Her skin white, but there is hardly any.

Parts of bone peek out at you, matching her skin.

Her hair is a dark blonde, that makes you want to touch it.

She walks towards you, abandoning her seat.

Your backing up slowly, wondering what corner of hell she escaped from.

Then, before you can move any more, she is upon you, unleashing her fury.

Your feeling fainter, and fainter, until you are nothing at all.

She has stolen your soul, your essence.

Too late for you to realize.

Then, she is back on her chair,

Once again admiring the rose in her hand.

Now humming the lullaby your mother sang to you when you were a child,

Your shriveled corpse, lying at her feet.

 

Author's Note

This is supposed to be scary.