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flower
ˈflaʊə/
noun
the seed-bearing part of a plant, consisting of reproductive organs (stamens and carpels) that are typically surrounded by a brightly coloured corolla (petals) and a green calyx (sepals).
synonyms: bloom, blossom, floweret, floret
"the shrub produces blue flowers in early summer"
Today was the day that he would start letting his feelings out, little by little. He had researched this for months upon months and was certain that she would understand what he meant. Of course there was a possibility that she simply wouldn't understand, or her eyes that carried galaxies of milky coffee wouldn't see the meaning behind each new day (perhaps she would just take the flowers and believe them to be a gift from another admirer, which they technically were)- but there was also that chance that she would understand, that she would reciprocate even the smallest piece of what he felt. There was that chance and he wasn't about to give it up. The flowers of my heart ache for you, impulsiveness and a message of sweet and lovely words lay heavy in his hand and mind. He weaved his way in between the desks, he only had a short gap to deliver the bouquet and make it to his first lesson (if he didn't chicken out). Today was the day and he wasn't going to pass this opportunity up; who knew when such a chance would come up again? He certainly didn't.
All through his lessons that day he was on edge and bursting with anticipation. The only thing that mattered today was her response- which would come tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow...
Tonight?
The stop of the bus jerked the grateful boy awake, releasing him from the trap of demons and monsters that haunted him in his sleep, only for him to realise that he was about to be thrown right back into the fray when he got back to the house. Bottles flying and drunken slurring was a nightly lullaby and the locked door was habit, it wasn't a great situation but he got by, always just avoiding harm. Always narrowly avoiding what would be another trip to the hospital. Which would never happen again while he lived here; hospital bills were too high. Sometimes he liked to imagine that the bruises weren't a sign of defeat and cruelty, but rather a sign of hope. A meadow of flowers for only him to see; a galaxy of stars lighting up his life; a painting showing off his life. He wondered what she thought of them. Catapulting himself up the stairs and bracing himself for an onslaught of verbal abuse, slipping and gasping when he remembers that it's Monday and he will be at work and then the bar until 3 in the morning. A weekly occurrence. He should be used to it by now but he couldn't relax, he never could. It'll turn back to normal tomorrow, or as normal as tomorrow can be. The rest of the week will be back to normal though, a routine that has been continued for years and years and years. And every time his father came up the stairs, he had promised to himself that he wouldn't cry. He couldn't. He had to stay strong; for Isabella.
- 543 Words Uwu i moved it here because i have decided that I'm better at short stories with only one part than longer stories!
