The Language of Flowers
This time two years ago, the same grave had been covered with flowers. The plot had not been able to contain them, and the fence that surrounded the graveyard had been garlanded with hundreds of individual gifts. Now, only a few wreaths hung on the graveyard's fence, and on the grave itself there were only four very distinct offerings. The bouquet Diana brought made five.
Were people here so fickle? Did they forget so quickly what had been done for them? On Themyscira, those who sacrificed themselves for others were remembered forever.
She noticed J'onn out of the corner of her eye, standing at the entrance to the cemetery. She guessed that he didn't want to interrupt her private moment, so she beckoned to him. She had no thoughts for the Flash's grave that couldn't be thought elsewhere just as easily.
"I do not wish to intrude - " began J'onn, as he drew up beside her in front of the marble slab.
"You're not intruding. But I'll leave you alone soon, if you want."
"There is no need."
He looked down, intently, at the grave. On a whim, she said, "Guess who brought each of the bouquets."
He didn't seem taken aback by the strange challenge, but simply turned his observant eyes on the flowers. "The wreath," he said, picking up the ring of red, white and blue flowers that obscured most of the grave, "the wreath is from Superman."
"That's what I thought, too."
He leaned it against the side of the grave. "That bouquet is yours," he said, pointing.
She smiled. "How did you know?"
"The cypress branch." He looked thoughtful. "You poured libations the year Flash died."
"I did. Guess the others."
"The dark roses are, I think, from Batman."
J'onn looked to her for confirmation. She shrugged. "I don't know."
"The yellow and red flowers -- "
"Carnations."
"Those are from Hawkgirl, and the ones arranged professionally in a basket are from Green Lantern."
"I think you're right."
"I could be wrong. The basket could be from Batman, the carnations from Green Lantern -- "
Diana cut him off impatiently, "It doesn't matter." She crossed her arms, and regarded the pathetically small array of flowers. "In this culture, they give each flower a different meaning. But, like everything else, the idea has been subverted for commercial uses."
"Each of these flowers has a specific significance?"
"In theory. It's not a very strongly maintained tradition, and I doubt that our teammates chose their flowers on that basis." She gestured to the understated bouquet J'onn had assigned to Batman. "For example, red roses signify romantic love. Though dark red might have a different meaning. I'm not sure."
He knelt down by the grave. "These have a language whether or not it is assigned to them. Without translation, these still speak volumes."
"Maybe for you. You always see more than the rest of us do, J'onn."
"I know," he said, in a voice that made it clear that it was not something he enjoyed.
She wanted to tell him that it was easier if you didn't look, but she wasn't sure if he had that option. She extended her hand. "Come, J'onn. We have real things to attend to. Solid things." Living things.
"I would like to stay here a while longer."
"That's your privilege." She smiled at him. "But remember, we have work to do."
He nodded, not smiling back. She turned and walked down the path that lead to the gate. She didn't look back until she was out of the graveyard. Then she saw J'onn, still kneeling by the grave, staring at the flowers as if they were a poem he was trying to memorize.