Short Stories

Impossible Wishes

By Reghan Libby

     If three years ago you told me that living in a world of complete peace would ruin me, I would have laughed in your face, and said you were crazy. Never, to anyone in the right mind, could peace become their own living nightmare. Their own hell on earth, you could say. Perhaps we have accepted the fact that the world will never be a peaceful place, because we are so use to it being cruel and unkind. We know what the problem is, but in order for it to be overcome, we must eliminate  the  root of it... and if we were to do that, no one on the planet would be left. We are the reason for this dark shadow that we cast upon our planet, our country, our life, our world, our home.

     Doused in sunlight, I sat there silently at my kitchen table, my fingers coiled around the thick glass handle of the mug that held my morning brew. I stared straight ahead, across the wooden surface, at the empty chair that sat on the other side of me. Finally, I was alone. I was living in my own little house, in my own little neighbourhood. It was, in its entirety, very peaceful. After finishing a bitter cup to awake me from my recent slumber, I stood up and swiftly make my way towards the door. There too, is the sun blistering in through the small gap between the curtains that swayed in the window. I reached forward and grabbed the perfectly rounded doorknob, chewing the inside of my lip as I attentively awaited for that familiar squeaking sound it made. Surprisingly, it never came. I was happy about that. The door slowly palpitated opened, letting the mornings fresh air drift through the front entry way. My next door neighbour was a sixty-four year old florist. She grew all sorts of flowers and plants in her backyard, and used her front lawn to display her fully blossomed treasures. Across the street, was a small bakery, where they made pastries and cookies. It was almost as if I could see the fresh smelling trail that the baked goods and flowers sent flowing through the air. It was a pathway of pleasure, glory and most of all, satisfaction.

     I walked to the end of the driveway, dressed only in fleece pyjama pants, and a pair of black espadrilles. A familiar voice came from the left of me, causing me to turn and face them. It was Cynthia Graham, the florist. She was dressed in a pair of white cut off jeans, with a plain tee shirt that was covered in water and soil. There was a large straw hat with a couple flowers poking out of it placed on her head, giving her a total down to earth aura. Her short grey locks were twisted in tight curls, that bounced against her cheeks with each step she took.

     "Lucas, hello! The roses we planted have finally bloomed!" She exclaimed, pulling her hands out from behind her back. Between her fingers, she held up two beautiful orange roses. Cynthia had been like a mother figure to me since I moved in a year ago. Always bringing me baked goods, and flowers, or making soup for me when I'm sick.

     "Really?" I gasped as my lips twitched up into a smile. I shambled over to her, my arms swaying by my sides. "Gee, they look beautiful, Cynthia!" I eyed the flowers like a mother, carefully inspecting their child's Halloween candy. 

     "Keep one for yourself, and give the other to someone you pass by on the street, alright? It could brighten someone's day." she insisted in her bubbly, British accent. I gave her a simple nod, and bent over to pick up the newspaper that sat near the white picket fence that separated our two homes. After I was done having a quick chat with Cynthia, I went back inside to get ready to conquer the day.

     My hair was still damp from my shower, but it seemed like a nice enough day that going out without it being dry would be okay. Heading back outside, I carried the rose that Cynthia had given to me to pass along, making sure it didn't get shaken around too much as I walked. I let the door slam behind me as I left, my eyes glued to the flower that was at the tip of my nose. The streets were surprisingly empty. Usually, there had been people arguing about something immature, or people raging in traffic. The only living thing in sight, was a couple, walking happily alongside one another. The girl had one hand gripping the leather strap of her purse, and clung to her boyfriend with the other. Both of them had wide, toothy grins on their lips, their eyes glimmering with youthfulness and admiration. They caused me to stop in my tracks for a second, and just stare, before I remembered the flower in my possession.