The snow began to slow, the air still crisp. Naomi was sitting by the window, watching it fall. She walked outside, pulling her sweater over her hands. She went behind her house to the flower patch, it had been two weeks since her mother died. The roses they had planted together we're now wilting; she picked them anyway. Naomi put the flowers in the basket of her bike and peddled to the cemetery. The grave was still fresh. She could have sworn she still smelled the sweet scent of her mother's perfume lingering in the air. She put the flowers down gently. They were beautiful, even in death, just like her mom. Why did everyone have to leave Naomi?
(I wrote this for school but thought I'd post it anyway, sorry if you could care less)
