Flower Petals (Short Story)

Here she lies atop a flower petal, ever so small she perches up to see blades of grass that no longer reach just above her ankles. She feels so small yet so on top of the world. The slightest breeze might blow her away, but she feels as if it’ll make her fly. She stands atop a flower petal her nose a slight red from the scarlet rose she appears to be lying upon. Dusting the pollen off of her slightly dirty pants she gazes out upon the vast sky.

“Wow,” she exclaims almost in shock, believing this to be but a dream. She prods and pokes her face because she's never had a dream feel so real. She can smell the air, that end of spring almost summer kind of smell, and the petal of the rose feels so soft against her fingertips and she caresses the top of it. Rays of sunbeam across the field, maybe its early dawn? Maybe it is midday? She does not know, she was no explorer. In fact, she had never done anything exciting in her life, she dreamed of it, but really she woke up every morning before the sun rose, and worked until it went down. On the rare occasion, she had time to herself she spent it catching up on the many hours of sleep she missed. A beautifully tragic life. She has both everything and nothing. She has a home that she's never unpacked the boxes to, a job she's never left, a bed she's never lied in long enough to feel the comfort of, a car with shattered mirrors to afraid to look at herself. This is the first time her hair wasn’t caked in grease, she didn't smell like rotting tomato, and she felt free. The first time she awoke from sleep and didn't wish to lie back down, the first time she saw the world with so much beauty. She had a sense of freedom that was really free, not locked behind expectations, and false hopes for an unattainable life. She felt free as the wind blew her hair back, as she stood tall only being an inch small, as she wept with a horizon ever so beautiful staring back at her.

Then she awoke, lying upon the tattered seats of the car with shattered mirrors and rusted doors. Lying within the clothes that smelled like rotting tomatoes and cardboard, hair caked in grease.

“This is free” she whispered, “I am free” she sobbed. This was the definition of unfree freedom, and as misery overtook her mind she realized this is all freedom will ever be. All free has ever been, so she sunk back into the seats of that car unfazed by the alarm that read time for work. She let herself slip back into darkness, cold, unapologetic darkness. And she never awoke again, watching that horizon rise one last time.

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