TW: Implications of death
MCC 12: Literary Competition
Work submitted by: Lady Death
Work submitted to: Noxite Crew, Minecraft Championship
Prompt: Flowers
The Fields
By Lady Death
At the age of 5, she walks along a field of flowers with her mother, smiling at the beautiful lilacs. A row of sunflowers along the way. She touches the flowers she loves dearly, caressing the petals with soft, gentle hands. When nightfall came, she went back to her home, her mother's hand in hers. Leaving her companions for another day.
At the age of 15, she picks chrysanthemums from the field of flowers and waters the flowers with salty tears. Hands shaking with sorrow and fear when she takes them, unlike the soft and gentle hands she used to have.
When she was 25, she went back to the meadows of flowers and picked the roses. Even as thorns dug into her skin, painting them red. She goes back down the path of flowers to say goodbye once more, meeting up with a person who she gives the roses to.
When she was 30, she came back with the person, this time picking up daffodils together as they joked and laughed. She picked them with care similar to a mother's touch. The two of them go back down the path, a hand on her belly.
By the age of 70, she was back with somber eyes and a new person with her, her daughter. A young woman, looking just as sad as when her mother was 15. They stop by to pick forget-me-nots, their tears once again watering the flowers. She picks the flowers with hands that yearn for what was lost; they are stiff at first but then became more gentle as she continued. It was not the same gentle hands as she had before, but it is hers.
When she was 85, she slowly made her way around the garden once more, guiding her daughter around. She does not pick any flowers, but she brushes her wrinkled hands among the chrysanthemums once more.
One last time, her daughter visits the flower field. No more of the familiar hands that once grew up with the fields touched or picked the flowers. Instead, it was her daughter who was also accompanied by others whom her mother regarded dearly. It was a rainy day, and the daughter watched as people dug a hole in the ground next to a willow tree. A cascet is lowered, and the sound of sobs as loud as thunder echoes through the fields.
No one comes back to visit the flowers.
The world moved on with time.
The flower field crumbled slowly till it disappeared entirely.
There are no more memories of a girl who visited the field with innocence and youth.
There are no more memories of a young woman finding her path back.
And there are no more memories of an old lady who healed with time and finally rested.
YOU ARE READING
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