Flower Shop || Short Story

Flower Shop

People wearing light-brown robes are rushing through the town of Bleakmere. Tying up colorful ribbons from one another then hoisting them up far from ground as a baker is checking the right heat for his dough and a lumberjack carving his chopped wood.

"Excuse me madame," says a man wearing a rather fine suit, holding a medium-sized case. He tips his hat as a sign of respect, "Sorry for interrupting, but do you know where the Lionheart Opera is? My friends are probably fuming right now for I am lost."

"Oh don't be sorry my dear!" says the woman as she arranges her green apples in the rack, along with her was little girl, holding a basket of fruits. The woman then points at a shop. "Do you see that? Just walk straight ahead then turn left."

"Thank you."

The man follows the woman's instruction, as soon he sees the shop he couldn't help but stare. Outside the painting that once was white has been scraped off, revealing cracked stones. The hanging sign that says 'Grandville's' was about to fall off, but inside was full of beautiful and lovely flowers. They were organized from their kind, color and size.

The walls were painted with the color of maroon with a touch of gold, dark oak shelves that are filled with pictures and Russian nesting dolls, a regulator clock above the seller's counter. There were also two red wing chairs.

Without even thinking the man opens the dark oak door, making the doorbell chime. He was greeted by an earthy and fresh scent as he set his case on the chair. He takes a good look at the flowers, mumbling their kind.

"Summer Snapdragon," He says as he rubs his index finger on his chin "Flamingo Flower, Purple Milkweed, Aubretia... funny names."

"Funny it is," says another male voice, the man startle then looks at the counter. Standing there was a man wearing white sleeves which are tucked in his black pants and a dark blue apron. "But names are names. People only care about its look."

"Anything you like?" the florist asks as he walks towards the man.

"No, I—um..." the man regains his posture, forgetting his little embarrassment. "Just looking, they caught my eye." He then stretches his hand out.

"Damphir Cane."

Damphir can tell the florist force a smile as he shakes his hand. Why would he fake it? Few months it will be August and the townsfolk will slowly pile up in his shop!

"Lawrence Grandville, florist for 30 years."

"Lovely flowers Mr. Grandville, but I cannot help but wonder..." Damphir says as he glances outside, two hostlers guiding two brown horses. "Zedias Festival is right around the corner. It might be fitting if you repaint the outside of your shop."

Ah, yes. Zedias Festival or 'The Flower's Festival' the most important event for the Town Bleakmere, represents the end of slavery when slaves carried men and women on their backs up steep hills instead of carriages. And the perfect day for florists, well, except for Lawrence. He hates this job, but it is the only way for him to earn money.

The shop was once an abandoned building, his mother left him there when he was a little boy. In order to survive he needed work, but not even a single peddler wanted him. When his first Zedias Festival experience, he noticed the people were strained from the lack of flowers. That is when he decided to read a book about flowers (which he stole from the library) then sell the common ones like Lillies, Anemones and Amarylis that he found in the Walpon Woods. And with enough fortune, he turned the abandoned building into a flower shop. He painted the outside but once, no one knew why.