30 Day Flash Fiction Challenge - Langage Des Fleurs (The Language of Flowers)

I have, over the years developed almost a reputation for being an awfully erratic writer, a truth that runs deeper with each passing day. So, in an attempt to encourage some consistency to my writing habits, I've developed a little challenge for myself. This challenge will understandably not get completed over consecutive days due to my aforementioned erratic behaviour, and most likely be carried out over completely random days. Maybe I'll update tomorrow, maybe I'll never update again. One thing, however, that will remain consistent is the format. For each of the days (I don't yet know how many) I will write a 250 word (or so) flash fiction, entitled with the name of a flower and relevant to the flower's meaning. Wish me luck, I will surely need it.

The main reason for these "drabbles" is not to improve as a writer but simply get writing again, but do provide constructive criticism if you feel like it :P

And why French? Because it’s the language of love my darlings. xoxo

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1. Asphodel

 

Asphodel (My regrets follow you to the grave)

A gentle breeze caressed the water’s surface as I approached, creating delicate ripples easily erased by the thrashing of joyous children frolicking in the shallows. I stood as I had always stood, stoic and expressionless beneath the shadow of the trees. 

Just watching.

I wondered at the blissful ignorance of them all; their naivety of the ways of the world. At what age is this fragile innocence torn away from us? I had no recollection of such a time in my life, each pleasant childhood memory lost to the darkness of what I have become. 

I fervently attempted to retain the lilting laughter of those bathing in the lake, the endearing nicknames thrown to one another, the liberating sound of their infinite splashing. The attempt was as futile as ever, the sounds slipping out of mind the instant I succumbed to the consuming need to close my eyes. I forced my lids shut further, balling my hands into fists as Her name escaped my lips, a whisper softer than Her coy smile. The beauty and elegance of summer danced out of my reach once again as the ghost of winter’s chill held me captive in a day I most desperately longed to escape. 

Her slight, graceful form, tarnished by the horrors shredding through her soul, balanced precariously on the cliff’s edge, tempting the fate she so deeply desired. I edged cautiously in her direction, ever fearful of prompting her descent, ever wistful the girl I had loved could withstand the demons devouring her. She turned then, her eyes gleaming manically, thrilled by the prospect before her, and smiled with such serenity I could no longer consider her choice to be as foolhardy as I’d previously thought it. 

She jumped. I lost everything.

210 days have passed since the one that shattered everything I’d ever treasured, each as futile as the one before. They still talk of me. Hushed little whispers coated in condescension. Derisive, contrived concerns for my overwhelming guilt. He must wish he had saved her.

They’re wrong. 

I wish I’d jumped too, Asphodel.

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