Such A Small Thing

Pages 7 and 8

(Still Gary's P.O.V.)

"Okay, you can get up now," she says.

I don't hesitate in pushing myself up and off the ground. It's a relief to be standing again.

"Thanks," I say, then smile.

"No problem. Here's your petal," she says, holding it out for me to take from her tiny hand, so I do.

I can see her eyes looking me over. I wonder what she's thinking? Is she scared? No. She doesn't look scared. She looks... oh... what's the word...

"Thanks, again. I've been lying there for what seemed like an eternity," I say. She looks pretty short, now that I'm standing up.

"Everything seems like an eternity here," she says, and looks up at me with big, questioning, blue eyes. "Do you know where we are?"

"Not a clue." I realize then that I haven't seen her holding any rose. "Where's your rose?" I ask.

"Nonexistent." She puts her hand in her pocket and it comes out holding a bright red petal. "This is all that's left of it."

"Really? Can I hold it?" I'm just wondering if all the petals feel the same.

"Uh, sure?" she says as if questioning her own decision, or my actions. She hands me her petal and as soon as I take it I can feel the warmth that it gives off.

She watches me with those same eyes that she had when she was looking me over. Come on! What's the damn word?

I flip her petal over with my thumb and place it next to mine, flipping mine over as well. The red and blue almost seems as if they want to mix. No. It's just my imagination.

I place hers over mine, and they both fit together perfectly. I notice that hers has a H on the back, just like mine has a G.

I pick hers up and hold it out for her to take it. "Here you go," I say.

She takes it from me and lets it rest in the middle of her tiny palm. "Thanks. If I may ask, why did you want to hold it?"

Because I wanted to know where the warmth was coming from. "I was wondering if all the petals are the same." I'm partially telling the truth.

"The same, how?" she asks, tucking hers back in her pocket.

I go and stand beside her, holding my petal out so she can see it. "If you flip mine over, it has my initial on it." I flip it over so that the capital G is showing. She reaches out and skims her fingers over it, that look in her eyes again. How can it be that hard to figure the word out? She draws her hand back. I note that the warmth I felt from the petal is still there but it's warmer, somehow.

"Yours has your initial on it as well," I say.

"It does?" She pulls her petal from her pocket and flips it over. The look on her face is that of bewilderment and disgust.

"Hm," she says.

"I also found out that every petal from the rose is warm, unless it turns black. When that happens they go cold, dead." Dead. Those moments were extremely painful. I bet they were even worse for her.

She looks up at me again, a concentrated look to her eyes. "So you're saying that the petals are warm because they resemble life?" she asks.

"Exactly."

"Hm." She looks away from me and tucks her petal back into her pocket, ever so carefully, as if it's glass. "So, G?" she asks, looking up at me again.

"G, for Garry, and what does your H stand for?" I ask.

She sighs. She obviously dislikes her name. "Hyacinth."

I think for a moment. "Hyacinth? Isn't that a flower?"

"Yeah, but flowers are not supposed to be names," she says, crossing her arms. She looks so... serious.

"Hm. Is there anything you would prefer me to call you?" I ask.