Poppies and Marigolds

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Commercial Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Channeling my inner child, brought upon this character, who is simply just growing up.

I open the door, and walk down the chipped blue paint stairs. Today I put my hair up with a red ribbon, for today I am adventurous. One step two steps, three steps, four. I’ve hit solid ground and skip along down the road, off to where the flowers grow. Ah, here I have arrived to the field of colors. Immediately I run into the heart of the field. Mother Is going to kill me, I didn’t realize the flowers were wet, as it had just rained. Now my dress is all stained with questionable colors. A small whooping shall not hurt to bad if I squeeze my buttocks tight enough.

Right at my feet, is the tied of favourites. First hand, the poppy, a symbol of peace. And second hand, the marigold, which my mother says helps with the special gift of the month. What does that mean ? For I really don’t know. Oh yuck! There is a slug on each one of the flowers so near me. I took a few steps back, for fear of the slimy tube things, god sure has a sense of humour.

Plop! Right on my face, resembling a tear, is a raindrop. That is the sign that its time to go back home. I turn around and go back the way I came, my foot became snagged and I fell to the ground. Oh fooey! Now my dress is completely ruined, now mother shall surely kill me. My foot started itching, leaving a little tickle, I looked down and there was a slug going up my leg.

Ladies are supposed to be graceful even in the worst of circumstances. But how in the name of god can a lady be graceful when there is a slug on her leg. I slapped the slug off me and ran home crying at the horrible day I had. Stupid flowers, it’s all their fault.

Back up the blue chipped stairs I ran, threw off my shoes and ran to mom. Surprisingly I did not receive a spanking, for mother felt sorry for me seeing as how pathetic I looked. Wet hair, stained dress, snot running down my nose. My lord I need to pull myself together.

Mother made me tea. I am now better. I think it’s marigold tea, oh how I love marigolds.


Submitted: June 29, 2011

© Copyright 2022 Lael Kirby. All rights reserved.

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