dragonjournal | Bingo SPAM 2/5

Title: Flower Dancing
Prompt: Flowers
Rating: PG
Content Note/Warnings: Implies DEATH of a certain sort. (May be triggering, but I don’t want to give away the core of the fic)

I could smell the wind.

Pansies, roses, lilies… Their scents danced upon the wind in a dance of colors that only I could see.

Pine, damp maple and oak… They underscored the flowers with a reminder that everything and nothing was eternal.

The light was filtered through a fog. I could see people wearing sunglasses, large hats creating a modicum of shade for them to hide in. But I was slowly going blind.

The darkness pressed in on the sides, but I desperately clung to the scents of flowers.
My eyes strained to see; my ears to hear. I clung to just a little bit more, refused to let go just yet. I felt unfinished, incomplete.

There were still things for me to do, see, experience. But I could only smell the wind and the flowers.

The smell of roses invaded my senses, distracting me from the indistinct shapes I could barely see across the way. I turned away from the blurs, wondering why the scent was so strong.

Rose petals floated on the wind. That explained it. My attention returned to the people near the big green blur.

A tent, I finally concluded. That’s all it could be. A weak buffer against the sun pouring down on them.

Pansies this time. Again, my attention wavered, trying to understand why the flowers were so strong.

“Kyle.”

It was the first time I’d heard my name in a long time. I even recognized the voice. But it couldn’t be her. If it was her then there were some hard truths that I didn’t want to face.

“Kyle, it’s time to go.”

I shook my head, willing my eyes to focus on the tent, my ears to hear what was going on.
Lilies. Why?

Pansies, roses, lilies… My grandmother’s three favorite flowers. I remembered her gnarled hands moving through the deep rich soil of her garden, planting, weeding, thinning. Her callused fingers ignored the sharp prick of thorns. Her voice, rich and warm, hummed hymns as she worked.

“Kyle. You cannot go back.”

No. I couldn’t. I knew that. I didn’t even want to. It’d just create a whole bunch of questions that I couldn’t and wouldn’t answer.

“Kyle, come with me.”

A warm hand landed on my shoulder and I suddenly felt far more real than I had in a long time.

“I can’t go with you.” That was true. What I’d done could not be forgiven. It was a truth that I’d been raised with and at the time it’d happened I’d accepted it.

There was my grandmother’s laugh. The smell of roses thickened, becoming almost cloying. “Yes, you can. Whatever you did then, is forgiven now.”

I turned, finally, to look at her. Her hair glowed silver in the suddenly bright sunlight. Everything about her was sharply defined. I could count the wrinkles near her eyes that crinkled when she smiled. My eyes traced the old, familiar planes, seeing the small scar that a childhood disease had left on her face. Her favorite gold earrings – pansies – glinted in her ears. The rose pendant with a pearl in the center hung around her neck.

“It is?” Shock laced my voice. Always, I’d been told it was wrong, that I would never reach the After, or at least not one I’d like.

She nodded, her head dipping just the tiniest bit. Her hand tightened on my shoulder and that smile warmed her face to brilliance. “Come along, Kyle. It’s time.”

I stood and stretched, looking back one last time. I couldn’t see anything. Everything was just a single blur, barely lit. Colors ran together, swirling in a kaleidoscope. The smell of roses, pansies and lilies surrounded us as I followed my grandmother somewhere else.

“Grandmother? Can I help you tend the flowers?”

She laughed, and I inhaled deeply the smell of roses.