Bloom (Marcanne)

Bloom

(Anne's POV)

Everything feels like a scrambled mess... Tangled up. Stringing my feelings into a coherent sentence felt like such a task for seemingly no reason. There was just so much going on upstairs- way too much to really make out... If I had to put it into words, it's like I'm sitting in the eye of a hurricane while time moves painfully slow. Everything circling me in the storm is out of my control. It's overwhelming, daunting... I feel small and helpless despite the gradual rotation of the winds. The way it moves so moderately gives a false sense of security. It feels safe within the eye's captivity, when in reality you never know when the blow will accelerate and throw you into a stomach turning spiral.

I respire, my chest rising as I breathe in the pungent, earthy odor of the basement's moist air. The smell of swamp water was something I'd become accustomed to, but now sitting alone with nothing to my thoughts keeping me company, the scent was more noticeable. My legs are crossed as I sit on my makeshift bed, staring down at the open notebook laying in my lap.

Come on, just write something. Anything. You can see it in your mind, so why can't you put it on paper???

My mind nagged at me again and again, but to no avail. Even after twelve whole minutes of sitting and staring at a spread of blank pages, I couldn't bring myself to write a single thought down. Instead, my hand just fiddled with my pen impatiently while the other held my chin in its palm. Click... click...click... My pen broke the silence. The longer I stared, the more aggressive the clicking became. Click..click click...clickclickclickclick!

"........" My eyebrows knitted together, and I threw my hands up with an exasperated groan. "Ugggggh this isn't working!" I exclaimed as I lightly threw my pen to the floor and dropped my forehead into my palms in frustration. I shut my eyes. I can't do this. Everything that was clouding my brainspace was too abstract and overwhelming. Sitting with it while trying to sort out what the hell was going on in my head just felt frustrating...

All of the worries I try to bury in the back of my mind surface, then become an indiscernible heap of clutter. I know what has me scared. I know what's making my stomach tie itself into knots, and yet the moment I try to dissect it, my brain overloads. "..." What a pain...

My eyelids lifted to look down at my journal. Rather than being met with the sight of the same empty, swamp water stained pages, I was greeted with a tiny heap of soft purple petals with golden ends. Another joined the pile, falling gracefully from atop of my head. I sighed, then brushed them aside with the back of my hand. The few petals fell onto my cot, joining the other amethyst petals that were littered sporadically around me.

I lifted my head up and puffed my cheeks. I blew the remaining petals from my coiled bangs, then lifted a hand to shake any stubborn ones out. I could feel the soft flora growing from my head as my fingers combed through my curls. The shapes of them felt different... It wasn't until I looked into my phone's reflection that I noticed the plants in my hair had changed out again. What used to be an arrangement of drooping bluebells was now a collection of small pansies and leaves. I was able to catch one remaining bluebell though. Its image glittered... A kaleidoscope of luminescent hue enveloping its body, until finally it burst into a flurry of sparkles that fizzled into nothingness. Promptly, a pansy grew in its place, blossoming to fill the void the bluebell left behind.

There was no denying that the sight was really pretty, but was the deal?? These flowers just alternate whenever they please. It's especially irritating on rainy days when mushrooms decide to grow the moment a water drop hits me. They started sprouting from the moment I woke up in this weird frog world, and no matter what I do there's no getting rid of them. I've tried....... so many times. Any attempt to yank the plants out hurts like hell.