The Dancing Flower - A Short Story Collection

The Dancing Flower

It's been eighty long years since the world went quiet.

There are no more humans left, they have all died. But they didn't die in the ways most often speculated. Their death didn't come from zombies, or war, or even aliens.

I remember it well, it took a while for it to reach where I live, and I listened to the news as warnings came out. People would start to float around for a few hours with large eyes and dreamy grins. Lots of them would hold hands and jump together with fevered happiness. After their energy was drained, they'd lay under a tree, or they would sit upon soft grass and lazily twirl a flower between their fingers. They would lift heavy eyelids to the sky and their smile would drift away as they closed them again.

Somehow, I am still here, untouched by the folly. Since their absence, I assume the world has reclaimed herself. I imagine that rattlesnakes now curl themselves up on front porches, and birds now nest in abandoned cars. I imagine that vines have choked the railroads and that dandelions have dominated neighborhood lawns (particularly the lawns that used to be perfect, short, and green).

I've been imagining for a long time.

My home is on a small boat. I stay in the room with the big windows. Here is where I dance. I dance endlessly, for it is the only thing I am able to do. I used to bring smiles to others, but now the room echoes with my rusted joints, and my reflection in the glass reminds me of my faded colors.

I am a dancing flower, the kind you buy in the spring with blueberries and ladybug kits. I am the small plastic flower that you set near a window and watch as I dance. You forget about me for a few weeks, because I am the background of the room. But every once in a while, you notice me and watch again. I smile and dance, smile and dance.

My home is a boat, a boat that is chained to the docks. I live in a lonely world now, and I am always forgotten. I imagine myself to be fortunate though. With all of this time, my mind does wander.

Maybe there are others like me, in an endless dance. Maybe they, too, are imagining how things have changed. Perhaps they dance still in their kitchen window, and they have to watch how the bright children's toys in the yard blanch with each passing day.

What if the blinds in their window are down and the sun only came in increments? They would dance and then recess, dance and then recess. They would wish they could lift their face, and wish to cry tears of longing. Longing to either dance forever or recess forever.

Yes, I am fortunate. My view is unchanging because I face the ocean.  Sunsets are my favorite, I suppose it's because I've never seen the sunrise.

In the distance, I watch purple clouds collect themselves balefully. A distant howl echoes over the water.

No matter. I have a window to watch from, and the ocean at my door.

I dance, as I enjoy the sunset yet another time.

I dance, as I listen to the seafoam that washes against the boat.

I dance, as I listen to the loudest noise I have ever heard.

I dance, as the waves swim towards me, each one being eaten by a larger one behind it.

I dance, as my window shatters.

I dance, as I move through the air.

I dance, as I clack onto the floor.

I start to slow, as my boat rocks.

I dance, as the biggest wave I've ever seen curls over my boat.

I dance, as I move through the air again, and then sink into the water.

I settle down towards the sand, as I watch my boat follow.

In my last second, before the boat settles upon me, I can see into my old room. And there, tangled in a necklace, and weighted by the heart-shaped locket, is a beautiful pink dancing flower, following me.

She can not reach me in time, for my little plastic pot inhales the water, but I smile as I close my eyes, for in these long eighty years, I was not alone.