Tangerine Flowers

It was a calm type of day, the type of day where the wind was just perfect, the sun warm, and the air crisp. Although it was quite useless to cloud-gaze, as the sky was completely clear, Jon Laurent couldn’t move off his back, or break his gaze at the sky. It was of an unknown colour, but the sun was a pastel painting, and it reflected onto the quiet grasses, which swayed in the different shades. The calm surroundings made it especially easy for Jon to lose track of time. It was very easy for seconds to turn quickly into minutes, and for days to turn into months. It didn’t matter, nothing did. Time was worthless, and all Jon ever felt was infinite.

Days were better than the nights. During the day, he would forget and simply spend his time wandering mindlessly along the violet hills, and the short, trickling springs. At night, it was cool and empty. The sky would turn opaque and the grasses stopped swaying. The worst thing about the night was the girl that would wander. Jon liked her, he did, but he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t speak to him. He was friendly enough, and he felt like he knew the girl, but still, her little frame would never acknowledge him. More than once Jon had become very frustrated, and had screamed at the girl. Still, there would be no greeting or even a hint that she saw or heard him. Her large, grey eyes would simply stare ahead of her, and she would wander in her pink jumper. When the sun rose, she would be gone, and he would be able to forget again.

Finally, Jon broke from his trance and he lifted his long slender body up. He was not young, at least middle-aged, and his face showed it. He had frown lines, and facial hair scattered messily around his strong jaw-line. He was, handsome, but his facial features often appeared mean and harsh. Jon began to walk forward, shakily. He could never walk straight, he blamed the uneven terrain, but the hills were smooth; not a rock out of place.

“Oh for god’s sake…” Jon mumbled, the words just barely escaping his dry lips. He stopped and looked ahead of him at the scattered and broken bottles that were everywhere. Every week, he would pick them up, hide them, but they would just reappear! The main thing that bothered him was how their heavy glass would be crushing the young, light orange-coloured flowers that lay beneath. They would be destroyed, their stems broken, and by the time he had picked up every bottle, they would lay silently, fragmented and ill. Sometimes, as he picked up the trash, he would wonder why the little girl didn’t come help him, even if it was day. He couldn’t understand any of it, he couldn’t understand where she went and why there wasn’t anyone else.

Leaning over to pick up the first bottle, Jon stopped himself. Not today, not again. He wouldn’t do it.

“I’m done bothering with you!” He bellowed at the bottles, almost expecting something scary or exciting to happen, but nothing did. The bottles laid, motionless as always. He spat at them once, and walked swiftly past, down the cherry trail. He swerved and swayed with his legs, almost losing his balance more than once, but he didn’t break or rest.

Jon continued down the path, which was becoming more and more narrow, and had changed from cherry to dark brown in a matter of hours. He was very thirsty, but there didn’t seem to be a pond or a stream anywhere, in fact, there seemed to be only the route ahead of him. He stopped, leaning against a thick tree on the side of the walkway, breathing heavily, debating on whether or not to turn back. What if the bottles had done something even more awful to the innocent flowers? He couldn’t go back…

Jon’s thoughts were rapidly interrupted, as the sound of a small whimper entered his ears. It turned into a more soft cry, a steady and gentle sob. He stood up quickly, whipping around in every direction, trying to determine exactly where the noise was coming from. He ran down the path, deciding there was no other way to go anyways. He ran for five minutes before a smell of musk and dust began filling his nose. How had he not seen the smoke before? It rose high into the sky, spiraling and whisking into shapes, then disappeared into the clear, dim sky. It was beginning to get darker, but it was impossible not to see the over turned, burning vehicle. The flames engulfed it, eating it, destroying it’s interior and exterior. Jon shakily guided himself towards it, his eyes burning from the stinging smoke and vapors that rose off it. The crying had become louder, and Jon couldn’t do anything more than stare as large grey eyes gazed out of the car. The little girl was inside. Just as Jon was going to start his heroic rescue, the little girl simply crawled over the side window of the car. She was not burned anymore, or cut, and her crying had stopped. She still did not look at Jon, who stood six meters from the burning site. She simply began to walk down the path Jon had come from, as night fell around them.

Now, standing in the darkness, only illuminated by the flames, was Jon. His eyes gazed lifelessly at the car, his knees trembling. He was done in dreamland, he would have to face his decision. In an almost ghost-like way, Jon’s feet carried him to the car. The flames burnt his skin. The glass cut into his arms and legs, and his head bashed against the side door. His body was deteriorating, it was becoming separated from his insides…he was surely dying now.

The beeping awoke Jon, his grey eyes staring up at a white ceiling above him. He couldn’t move or speak. His arms were hooked up to machines, and there was a tube in his throat and nose. He moved his finger slightly, verifying he was up. Jon was awake, staring up at the pearl ceiling, and he knew that his little girl was not.