Plucking at the silken blooms she whispers "Real, not real, real" under her breath, allowing her prize to slip through her fingers like old tear drops. She watches the petals collect in the breeze, scuttling across tarmac and starts on another.
"1982, 2008, 1982"
She tried not to think too hard about how it always falls on the wrong one.
Real. 1982
As the wind becomes harsher she decides she is not ready to face the storm. Leaving the ground littered with little flowers, Alex's lunch break is over and today is another day that she cannot choose between. Between her secrets.
Molly Or Gene.