She walked in a sea of botany, scraping her fingernails against the chrysanthemums. She stepped quietly, murmuring a song she couldn't quite remember. She watered the plants, melody burbling in her throat.
It was Wednesday. She loped across the stone floor; languidly, lazily. She liked Wednesdays. She finished with the plants and sat, propping her feet on the white wire furniture. It was warm, though the wind rattled at the panes. The sun came through the glass ceiling. It was late afternoon, early autumn. Brown leaves danced outside, pressing against the walls, itching to join their verdant brethren. She wore a blue dress, straggly with black lace. The plants curled in tendrils, sprouting floor to ceiling, burgeoning in the colors of a falsely created spring.
The leaves arched around her face, long and lush and glittering with water droplets in sunlight. Outside, the wind bustled and blew. Inside, a girl hummed, quietly, reading a book.
She put the book down, beginning to doze in the warmth. Her favorite season had always been spring. She took a deep sigh, running fingers through her hair. It had gotten too long; she figured she needed a haircut in the few days. She settled back into her chair, plants whispering in her ears. They tickled the back of her neck, making her giggle and laugh. She was happy, truly happy. The glass roof crackled as the wind blew.
She heard a knock. Three smart raps against a wooden door. Her eyes opened to shards of glass falling from above. The sky had gone dark and wet, raining and storming and swirling above her. Her greenhouse, her verdant palace, shattered. She grabbed her book and ran for cover. The plants withered and died as the wind whipped through them. She was swept away by the wind, hair swirling up in a tornado-like plume. She cried for help, tears of anguish falling from her eyes.
She smacked her head into a wooden table as she woke, hair tangled and coiled down her back. She heard the knock again, four raps this time. She wiped the dream from her eyes and stood up, slipping on a pile of unwashed clothing. She ran to the door, sliding past piles of takeout and dirty dishes. She had left the TV on. A blonde burbled away behind her, speaking of nothing.
She reached the door, yanking it open. His hand was poised to knock again, but he lowered it sheepishly to his pockets. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes were dark. His dark hair dripped onto the welcome mat. It had started raining.
Author's Note: Here we go again! Oh, it feels good to be back.
Hugs and Kisses,
Zoe