Flowers on Her Doorstep

Chapter One

I've always hated flowers. They're hard to keep alive, they smell funny, and they get very ugly when they die. They're too high maintenance. Just like people.

But when he brought me flowers, they were different. They seemed almost immortal, able to keep themselves alive no matter what and I could not kill them. Immortal doesn't usually mean that something is low maintenance, but in this case, it did.

His flowers were the beginning of something, but I didn't know it at the time. They were the beginning of something, both fatal and strikingly beautiful at the same time. Immortality is horrifying and amazing, and these flowers were exactly that.

You're probably wondering why I'm making such a big deal about flowers from a boy. You're probably thinking, "She is probably in love with him, thinks his flowers are immortal, whatever." But the flowers were special, and I didn't know if the boy was too. In other words, I'd never met the boy. They were just there, flowers on my doorstep. There were vibrant roses and pristine lilies, plus little bundles of wild daisies.

My immediate reaction was to smash the vase to pieces and rip the flowers apart. But as I bent over to pick up the beauties, I caught a whiff of the flowers. They smelled like magic and summertime, which I swooned for immediately.

When I came back to my senses, about 10 seconds later, I remembered how high maintenance these things were, just like people. The person who sent me these was probably a whack job, and was just trying to get something out of me, as usual. I set them down on the porch, still careful not to break them, and stared at them.

Sure, they were beautiful. But they'd just die, and make a mess. My heart would break... but every reason I thought of to just throw them in the trash can, my brain always came up with the conclusion that they were beautiful and smelled perfect. I finally gave in, taking them inside where I could examine them further.

That was when I noticed the little white card, with elegant, curved black print on it. There was gold thread outlining the card that shimmered under the blinking light of the kitchen.

You don't know me, but I know you. Trust me, I know how you feel about flowers. Just think, why would a boy like me put flowers on your doorstep?

With no signature.