Such A Small Thing

Pages 2 to 6

"Hey, uh, are you okay?" I ask.

He looks up at me, startled, probably.

"Um, if you want, I can just go," I say, and start to turn away.

"Actually, if you don't mind, can you hold my petal for me while I get up? I'd rather it not touch the ground, obviously," he says.

"Oh! Sure," I say, slightly startled. I walk around him to his back and reach down and pick the petal up. It's the same size as mine and has the same texture.

"Okay, you can get up now," I say.

He pushes himself up then stands up. "Thanks."

"No problem. Here's your petal," I say, holding his petal out to him. His hair is a mess and the coat he's wearing is torn at the collar and the sleeves, along with the bottom of it. I wonder what happened?

He takes the petal from my hand and looks down at me. He's taller than I am. Probably about a head or so... maybe a little more.

"Thanks, again. I've been laying there for what seemed like an eternity."

"Everything seems like an eternity here. Do you know where we are?" I ask.

"Not a clue." He stops for a second and looks at my empty hands. "Where's your rose?"

"Nonexistent." I take the petal from my pocket. "This is all that's left of it."

"Really? Can I hold it?"

"Uh, sure?" I say, slightly confused as to why he wants to. I hand him my petal and he takes it gently.

He flips mine over and then places his next to it, flipping it over as well. He makes a "hm" sound and places mine over his. He picks it up again and holds it out to me. "Here you go," he says.

I take it from him and hold it in my hand. "Thanks. If I may ask, why did you want to hold it?"

"I was wondering if all the petals are the same," he answers.

"The same, how?" I ask, tucking mine back in my pocket.

He comes and stands beside me, holding his petal out so I can see it. "If you flip mine over, it has my initial on it." He flips it over.

There's a capital G on it. I reach out to run my fingers over it. It looks like it's engraved into the petal. It's not, as I find out. I draw my hand back. There's a strange warmth coming from the petal.

"Yours has your initial on it as well," he says.

"It does?" I pull the petal out of my pocket and flip it over. There it is. A capital H. My symbol of the horrendous name my parent gave me.