Paper flowers

Emilie inexplicably had a joy for life and its surroundings.  Her mind rests on this concept about the majestic world as she skips down the path leading the way through the rays of alluring, vibrant flowers in its garden.  As she looks up at the sky not a single spec of grey cloud hovers, only the blue and the brightness of the sun.

            Emilie wore a petite white long Victorian dress with her hair properly braided up.  Now, Emilie was quite bright for a girl of nine years.  She already knew her proper grammar and had already memorized her history books.  Her teachers were amazed with her as well.  Instead of going out to play with the other children, Emilie preferred to stay inside and study.

            One time, her teacher tried to teach her the meanings of colourful flowers. But that was ridiculous, thought Emilie. How can any color have actual meaning to it? Colors were colors.  But as Emilie made her way down the path, she couldn’t help but be spellbound by the petite pink flower. She remembers what her teacher had told her. “Pink!” Her teacher had said in a quirky voice. “Of course, one of my favourites. Pink is the small innocence of joy that lies inside us all. Mind you most women comment on how ignorant men are when they simply insult their love by giving them pink instead of red. But red can be a strong mysterious colour. I prefer to stay within the safe zone. You don’t know what men are really thinking.”

            Before turning her back to walk away, Emilie gives one more look at the flower and smiles. As she walks away, she is unaware of the petals breaking off the flowers stem and falling hopelessly to the ground.

She comes across the yellow flowers. Yellow is one of Emilie’s favourite colors simply because the color always puts a smile on her face. Yellow, as her teacher commented, “Was all happiness. Everybody says that yellow is a flower you give to your sick grandmother but I would fall to pieces if my male companion gave me a yellow flower.  For it is true happiness.” Her teacher looked up at the sun through the window of the library, adding, “For I am completely happy.”  Emilie tries looks up at the sun, but its igniting flames leave her eyes burning with a vehement affliction. She looks back at the yellow flower that she is holding. Oh, how it reminded her of her parents and how beautiful and bright things were…are.  How bright things are.  She frowns at it. Something wasn’t right. She drops the flower and skips away as if her feet were filled with the joy of the day. 

Though Emilie was pretty observant she was quick to ignore instincts that said there was trouble near by. That in all would show anyone’s ignorance of how carefree they are. But for Emilie, when that trouble thought rang like a warning in her brain, she washed it away as a gesture of silly nonsense.

Maybe Emilie should have been less oblivious to her instincts.  They were only trying to warn her. If she had looked a little to her left, Emilie might have seen that the flowers were beginning to drizzle with smoke. And just behind the large tree a few feet from where Emilie stood, a shadow glimpsed around the corner and watched as Emilie made her way. It stares at Emilie with a passionate lust as its hunger grew forever rich inside its stomach.

Down the path she goes until she turns around a corner and stops at an inconvenient blue dollhouse that is blocking the path.  Usually Emilie ignores her instincts but this time it hits her with such force. Even the sun has now hidden behind the trees and everything turns to a dark chill. The model of the dollhouse seems vaguely familiar with its purple shutters and white picket fence. Emilie crouches before it and opens it up to reveal the huge mansion. She is indulged by the three dolls sitting around a dining room table and begins to play with them.

The play begins a fun joy of dressing up the dolls and having a good fun time. But once again Emilie is ignorant of her instincts.  The shadow presence larks only a few feet behind her. But she doesn’t completely rid this feeling. Instead it runs like sparks in her fingers, as a violent game with the three dolls begins to take a trolling spin. One doll is thrown against the wall while another Emilie rips the hair out of. Her torment causes such violence against the dolls as they are ripped apart, pulled at, pushed at.  All the anger, hatred, sadness fills her heart with lashing force.  It was all too much for Emilie. The shadow’s hand reaches out towards her.

Then everything comes to a standstill. Emilie gives in to her instincts and wisps her head around, but there is no monster to be seen.  Maybe she was right after all, instincts are silly nonsense.  She looks back at the dollhouse, feeling sorrow for what she has done, and leaves.

Poor little Emilie.  If only, if only, she wasn’t so keen on being so oblivious to her consciousness might actually escape what was heading for her.

She looks back up at sky to the clouds covering the sun. It made her sad to how she never appreciated the sun before. Everything seems to be gloomy now. No longer skipping in heart filled joy but simply just walking. She may have continued like this for maybe minutes or hours. It was so difficult to tell, her mind was racing back towards the dolls. Why had she done that? Who on the face of the planet would do that? What was wrong with her? All these ridiculous questions bubbled in her small little mind. It was too much! It was too much!

Emilie’s feet come to a complete stop as the path deliberately cuts off.  Beyond is meadow of green grass.  Curious, she thought.  She felt an urge to run through the field, but another conscious thought told her to turn around and run.  But why would that matter so much? Obviously Emilie couldn’t stand there forever, but why such a strong impulse to have to choose?  It felt needy. 

Chills run down her spine as a dark tempting voice whispers inside her mind, “Curiosity killed the cat...”  

“Enough of this!” She screamed in frustration and runs off into the field.  She was tired of all this paranoid nonsense.  “This is driving me insane!” she screams to herself again.

 The wind rushes through her hair and her dress flies with it as she runs down the bright green.  Every inch of her breath grows heavier and heavier until, finally, she slows down into a walking pace.  Now that she has finally slowed down she is able to witness the meadows wonder throughout its coated majestic green.  She goes back to the time to what her teacher had once told her about this color, “Green is the color of life.  We live it! We explore it!”

And yet there was a beauty upon this meadow with the flowers that sparkled all around.  Flower of all colors grew within this meadow, from yellow to pink to blue to white.  But what really caught Emilie’s attention was not the blues or the pinks or whites.  It was a red rose.  The only unique color that stood out from the rest of the flowers.  Unlike the others, there was something different.  Maybe it was the way the rose stood on the stem with poise or maybe it was the twinkle sparkle upon it’s peddles, either way Emilie felt a pull of gravity towards it.

“…Red can be a strong mysterious color…”

But there was something about it. 

And then once again, the tempting voice whispers through her thoughts, “Curiosity killed the cat…”

Emilie shakes off the cold chill that runs down her spine and picks up the flower.  She flashes back to a time when her father once came home with beautiful flawless red rose.  Oh red, Emilie thought to herself.  How it is the color of love!

“Is it?” The dark voice comes back, climbing into Emilie’s mind.  “Red can be a strong mysterious color…”

Another flashback appears of her father, with a lustful grin on his face, handing Emilie the red rose.

Another memory flashes in Emilie’s mind.  No! Thought Emilie, desperately trying to push the memory back.  I don’t want to remember! I don’t want to remember!

The memory showed flashes of smoke and a fiery haze.  And blood.

“No!” This time Emilie screams it out loud.  She spins around to find only inches away from her face the man in the mask staring at her. It was as if behind that mask there were eyes that can look deep down within her soul.  Emilie, still clutching the rose as the thorns digs deep inside her skin making her hands start to bleed, screams.  He grasps his hand around his arm with a thrust.  The coldness of his touch prickles as his grasp turns tighter and tighter as she tries to pull away.  A ringing sound blasts into her ears.  Dark spots begin to cloud up her vision.  The last thing Emilie remembers is with his free hand, the man reaches towards his face to pull off the mask, but before his face can be revealed, the dark spots take over completely as Emilie is thrown into a pit of blackness. 

 

Slowly, Emilie’s eyes twitch as she tries to re-open them.  Eventually her eyes re-adjust to white blackness of her sealing.  Then, just like that, awareness snaps back into her as she realizes where she is.  She sits up with fast haste.  A flood of broken memories and dreams come back to her as if somebody was as unfair enough as to stab her in the heart.  The majestic wonders of the garden were now replaced by the blank white walls of her room.  There were no flowers to appreciate here.  Only the empty room with the containments of a small bed she now sat up in, and a wooden chair sitting across the room. 

A prickling feeling comes over her arm making her flinch.  She rolls back the sleeve of her long sweater to reveal where the tinkling feeling is located.  A red mark appears within the whiteness of her skin, taking the shape of a handprint.  An alarm rings in Emilie’s mind and she is unable to hold back her shrieking screams.

The door to Emilie’s room slams opens, as a woman in a white dress and apron rushes in and holds Emilie down as her aching screams roam the silence of the room. 

“Emilie!” she preaches as she tries to hold Emilie, who struggles to get free from her grasp. “Calm down child.  Breathe! Emilie! Listen to me!”

Emilie’s struggles become less desperate with sound of the woman’s voice.  The long shrilled screams continue for a few more minutes before calmness finally adjusts into her. 

 

“Emilie,” Doctor Selger begins as he is seated on the chair sitting in the corner of the room opposite to Emilie, who is sitting crossed legged on the bed. “Do remember what happened ten years ago?”

Emilie politely smiles to Selgen as if the whole incident earlier with the screaming had been erased from history.  “My parents died in a fire.  I am aware doctor.” She says. 

The doctor nods, “Yes they did.  But Emilie, are you aware of what happened?”

Emilie frowns at the doctor.  Now confused she asks him, “What do you mean? The fire started because the candle fell over and let the curtain on fire.”

No sign of agreement came over Selgen’s face.  He takes his pen and writes in his black leather notebook as Emilie sits patiently in the silence of the room with nothing but ticking of Selgen’s watch and scribbling of the pen conveying on paper.  Finally Selgen stops writing and looks up towards Emilie.  For a short second, Emilie thought she saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes, but then were replaced by sustenance of comfort.  He smiles at her and moves on to next question.  “Do you miss your parents?”

What a ridiculous question, thought Emilie.  “Of course I do!”

“Tell me about them.  What were they like?”

Just as she was about to answer, a white blank expunges over her mind like a tidal wave, erasing every inch of her happy memories.  She did remember, didn’t she?  That little girl skipping through the garden; that was her, was it not? She grasps for the happy innocence of her mind but feels nothing but the blunder of apparition of that perfect scenario on which she remembers.  She grasps for it, but nothing.  The happy memory of her mother kissing her on the forehead before she goes to sleep at night and her father patting her on the head for doing so well in school; it felt gone.  A phantom on her mind.  Were they really real?  “We were happy, weren’t we?” she asks without acknowledgment that she is asking out loud.

The doctor sees this awareness in Emilie.  Straightening up with haste, he takes advantage of this change. “You tell me.  What memories of your parents do you remember?”

A blank infusion unravels in her mind.  She remembered her mother, but it wasn’t a kiss on the forehead.  An unpleasant feeling comes over her; a haunting sensation she lacks to remember.  She felt a pull towards the uneasy feeling, a part of her that she never wanted to see.  “Emilie,” said the doctor, sterner now.  “I need you to remember.”

But she didn’t want to.  It felt as if she falling into a deep dark familiar hole and there was no way out.  If she remembered, her hopes would be shattered.  But Selgen keeps pushing, “You remember, don’t you? Ten years ago.  Your parents died in a fire.  Think back to how the fire started.  Think of the relationship with your parents. It’s all connected Emilie.”

Like shattering glass, an image breaks through her mind of smoke and hazard; Emilie curled in a tiny ball in the corner of her room with tears burning with hot liquid agony in her eyes.  Her eyes travel to her black and white play mask sitting next to her on the floor.  The melancholy in her heart then turns to something deeper and hungrier.  She picks up the mask, and as she does she falls into its fiery bliss as mask falls upon her face.  And as she does, the small innocence of her childhood dies to the passionate hatred.

 

 

The memories flood and hit like a thousand stabbing knives.  However, as the memories poured back, it wasn’t sadness that mended in her heart.  The numb cloths unrolled in her mind, revealing the dark hunger within.  She smiles at Selgen.  “I remember now, doctor.  I remember who I am.”

 

 

Outside, the foggy air leaves nothing but blindness to everything that was thirty feet ahead.  The large grey building stood tall with a large stoned sign in front revealing the name of “Hampshire County Lunatic Asylum” printed in large black letters. 

 

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Ambro]

I wish this was a book and not a one page story. I want to read more of it and thought it would go on for much longer but alas!
Your writting style is pretty good and the story itself is very interesting. I especialy liked it when it turned from a merry girls dream to something dark and mysterious.