↱FLORAL FOR YOU↲ ⇾verkwan⇽

Red Dahlia

Vernon had heard of it before, of how time and death were reflections of each other.

Their differences subtle, nearly imperceptible, and the absolute demise of humankind.

There was no room for mistakes nor compassion or patience.

Time and death were both cruel, ruthless, and thrived on playing tug of war with destiny. A measly game where the winner got a taste of victory, golden and invigorating; while the other player was left in the dust, trying to repair broken hearts born from deceptions and abandonment.

Vernon wasn't even fazed when he discovered that time, death, and destiny had formed an alliance just to play with him. There was no other explanation as to why, in a few months, everything he had built up until now had been plucked from its roots, leaving nothing but scars behind.

It made so much sense when he thought of it that way. Vernon shouldn't have provoked destiny by falling for the wrong person and then, refusing to follow the path that had been laid down for him since the start. The price he had to pay was high and, yet, he still fought back to get one last glance at his unrequited love.

Flesh and bones against the basis of the universe, yeah, he never stood a chance.

He was going to lose the war.

Death was making sure of that.

Its tendrils were wrapping around his lungs, breaking the skin below them, and streaking his body in black marks. On the other hand, time loved psychological torture.

It mocked Vernon in the silence of the night, whispering about lost chances and wasted days, about how today might be his last tomorrow.

And that explained the bruises covering his entire torso, expanding over his larynx and tracing the course of the damned flowers. It also explained the sleepless nights, the weakness, and the constant fear of doing even the slightest thing out of place.

After all, he had become spring and a collage of torment had been plastered over him as punishment for his silence. It was only natural to live in constant pain.

If Vernon had to blame intangible entities for his suffering, then he was going to.

Perhaps he was delusional, too consumed by his insecurities and guilt to think logically. However, the amount of blood he had lost in the past few days was probably the cause of his paranoia. That and the fact that he was coughing full flowers, which meant that time would get restless and stop ticking for him soon.

Soon being the synonym of two weeks, of course.

According to the few documented cases, after the first bloomed flower, the patient had two weeks to live. At most.

Wasn't that fantastic?

Vernon stood from the bathroom floor, ignoring the way his muscles protested the sharp movement and put away any visible evidence of his illness. He flushed the flowers down the toilet and washed off the remaining traces of blood from his face and clothes. He went through the motions with practiced ease like he had done it a thousand times before because well... he had.

The good thing was that Vernon wouldn't have to worry about cleaning anymore in the near future.

--

Vernon was dying.

He had made peace with that fact long ago. But being fine with it didn't magically make him immune to fear.

Vernon knew about Hanahaki, was experiencing it for goodness sake, and yet, nothing compared to seeing its effects firsthand.

There was so much blood.