FLOWERS

Aster

Three weeks later.

Sam sat alone at a desk he didn't own in an antique store he didn't remember entering. Sweet classical music played throughout the building. He felt his fingers tap on the desk causing the only other noise present. The only other thing on the desk that wasn't Sam's hands was a decapitated head. Just the head, no remnants of the body was visible in any area around Sam. Though, a keen eye would notice the dripping of blood that leaked from the bottom of an antique dresser that sat unmoved for years, in the middle of the store. One could only assume the gruesome sight that would be seen if said dresser was opened. One could also assume, from the evidence presented, who created said gruesome sight. The trouble started when Sam looked down at the head and realized he didn't recognize the face, nor new how such a disgraceful visual appeared in his vicinity. He studied the head, taking in every detail of its presents. It appeared to be one of an old woman. Grey hair, now soaked with blood near where the separation had occurred. The imprint of the rims of glasses were present on both, the bridge of the nose and the sides of the face, just above the ears. The glasses were no longer present on the face, but after some further investigation, Sam located the missing opticals, carfully placed on the colar of his shirt. The left lens, cracked and falling from the rim. Sam could guess that one more knock of its body would send its left lens cureaning to its death upon the floor where it would very likely meet its end, just like the person who was now in desperate need of the head that had been gently placed in front of Sam.

Sam then turned his observation to his hands. If he really was at fault for the violent crime in which it looked like he was at fault for, surely there would be blood graced on the rough pale skin of his palms. Yet a quick survey of said palms showed the opposite. He was clean of this crime. At least it appeared so, but that did not explain the glasses that somehow found there way to his shirt colar.

As he reached for them and his hand made contact with the implaments, the left lens jolted just slightly from there home, sending them careening to the floor, just as Sam hed suspected. The lens shattered into an aray of tiny and sharp peices as they shot all accross the hardwood floor.

Suddenly, the classical music stopped, with the scratching of a record. Silence filled the room Sam resided him, leaving only the residual sound of ringing in his ears that made Sam extremely unconfortable.

He felt unsafe, and rightly so, as he was not alone at this moment. The sound of footsetps making there way in his direction sent chills down Sam's spine, but Sam found that he could not move at that moment. His body was tied to the chair. A detail that he had previously overlooked in his moment of panic in seeing the head sitting on the surface in front of him.

Suddenly the stepping sound was accompanied by a voice that Sam knew very well, but seemed completely unlikely to be heard at this moment. "Hi Sam." It spoke as it made it's way to Sam, not at any speed, mind you. It's steps took there time and made every second feel like a year of life ticking away.

"L-Lilly..? What's happening? Why am I tied up in here?"

The foot steps stopped, and Sam heard nothing again, then suddenly they continued, but they were walking back where they came. Then after several seconds, they stopped again. Sam heard a shard clack and then after a moment, the sound of a record starting up, but this time the record wasn't playing sweet classical music. This time the record was playing what sounded like screeching and then faintly in the background of the screeching was the quiet sound of Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue." The sound of the trumpet starting the peice rose with such vigore that it seemed to raise the tension that filled the room. The screeching scared Sam more than he could explain. It sounded unnaturaly and truely disturbing, like the curuption of a beautiful thing. It didn't feel right.