Flowers of the Forgotten

“Doors Closing” the mechanical voice iterated as the subway carriage doors began to close. Suddenly, a young woman’s arm pierces the gap between the doors, as the doors creak open to allow her in. Her face is mangled with distress, a black fleece hoodie shielding her face from attention. Breaking the peace is her small sniffles of sadness, her hands pale with affliction. She sits down on the plastic yellow seat of the carriage, hands fidgeting vigorously with the hem of her hoodie. Her head was down low, yet her eyes looked up outside the window unfocused. Rhythmic foot-tapping echoes the carriage corridor. A bitter metallic taste overwhelms the atmosphere of the carriage, yet a mysterious sweet, vibrant smell lingers through the air.

“Doors Closing” the mechanical voice reiterated, the doors closing in, a hissing sound reverberating through the atmosphere as the doors closed shut. Parallel to the woman on the carriage, was a young man. His hair flashed with almond hues, lanky and wiry in texture. He stood straight, a tight white polo gleaming through the dimness of the carriage. His polo was cleanly tucked into the hem of his long black pants, fastened together with a brown belt. Yet the most noticeable part of him was what he held in his hands, a chromatic bouquet of wildflowers ranging from bright blue to bright purple. He stood on the tips of his formal black, leather shoes as his other arm grasped firmly onto the yellow straphanger on the carriage ceiling. A smile tugged at the ends of his lips, an eager undertone present within his nature.

“Train headed to Springfield station” the mechanical voice informed as the train began to accelerate, inertia tugged on the two individuals as the man tightened his grip on the strap, whilst the woman surrendered to the acceleration. Her hands now fidgeted with a small stress ball, squeezing it with immense force as her foot tapped repeatedly on the plaster floor. The train began to rattle, shaking mildly as the woman fidgeted, her stress ball falling from her grip.

The ball began to roll down the uneven surface of the carriage, rolling down before softly crashing into the man’s leather shoes. The man glanced down at the ball before his eyes browsed the carriage, empty except for a woman a couple of seats down. The man knelt as his hand fell from the strap, fabric tugging at the seams of his garments. His hand grasped the ball, a squishy, dark blue ball creasing in a labyrinth of curves. He stood up as he walked up to the woman, a slow stride and calm demeanor.

“This must be yours, right?” He chuckled, a laugh that was almost irresistible as he handed the ball back to her. The woman stole a glance at the man, his smile ever so prominent as she reached out to grab it.

“Y-yes” she spoke softly, a tone of anxiety in her voice as she mewled. “I-I’m so sorry” she apologized, stuttering with every syllable as her hand covered her mouth and her head depressed.

“No, no it’s okay” he said reassuringly, speaking softly. “Do you mind if I-?” signaling to the seat beside her.

“No, it’s okay!” she assured, her eyes now drifting to the colorful bouquet in his right hand.

“Oh, these?” he questioned rhetorically. “Just a small gift I got”

“O-oh…” she hesitated. “W-why?” she quizzed.

“Well,” he said with vehement, his gleaming emerald eyes lighting up. “I’m actually moving places, just a little farewell gift!” he babbled with optimism in his voice, yet a slight hint of trouble underpinned his tone.

“C-cool!” she questioned further.

“Almost forgot to introduce myself, sorry!” he chuckled. “I’m Dolce!” he exclaimed gleefully. He turned to face her better, shifting his bouquet carefully on the seat. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Amara.” She muttered faintly.

“So, Amara. Where you headed at this hour?” he inquired

“Springfield, w-what about you?” she solicited

“Really? I’m actually heading there as well.” He said, with a small hint of surprise in his voice. The train rattled suddenly with force as the lights flickered with intensity. “Well, that’s not scary at all.” he teased sarcastically.

“Not at all” she laughed softly for a moment with him, a sense of ease in her voice. She lowered her hoodie, as if to lower her guard down. Her bright cerulean eyes caught his attention, gleaming with a sparkly aura. Despite their beauty, her eyes were puffy, soaked with the cold touch of sadness. Contrasting her eyes were her beautiful, dark violet curls, cascading down her hair in elegant locks. Her lips pressed together as she laughed, small dimples creasing at the corners of her beautiful smile.

“Woah, your eyes are the same color as my flowers, what a coincidence!” He effused with mirth, angling the radiant bouquet to her view as he pointed to it. They both chuckled, smiling as they enjoyed the moment. The still dark, flickering train and its rattling intensity was overpowered with the light of their vehement laughter.

As the laughter faded, and the train rattled, the woman looked down at the ground as she spoke. “I used to have flowers of my own, a seed that grew.” she shared.

“Where is it now?” he probed, curiosity filling his voice.

The woman turned to him as she began to speak. “Well, the seed grew into a wonderful, flourishing flower, hues of colors I’d never seen before” she gushed with enthusiasm, a pint of nostalgia invading her voice. “Until one day, the flower began to wilt, withering away as it’s once vibrant colors turned into an eerie grey” she lamented, her hands fidgeting together as she spoke.

“That’s sad,” he conferred, empathizing with her story. “But I mean there’s always another seed out there, another seed to take care of, another seed to water and grow!” he preached, comforting the woman with his words.

“You really think so?” she vacillated, stammering on various letters.

“I don’t think so, I know so!” he encouraged, a smile searing his face with glee. “What’s the point of being stuck on the death of one flower when you can bring life to another?” he proposed, as he gestured to the many flowers on the bouquet, challenging her to think differently.

“B-but what if the new one withers too?” she speculated, stuttering once again.

He chuckled softly, as he caressed the petals. “Well, just like the flowers, the unpredictability of life is what makes gives meaning!” he chattered. “Tell me, what does a gardener get from all of this?” He said, gesturing at the dozens of colorful wildflowers in the bouquet.

She pondered on the question for a moment, the rhythmic tapping on the floor echoing the carriage as she thought. “Hm, I suppose… pride, joy?” she suggested, a tone of uncertainty in her voice.

“Satisfaction and purpose” he replied “A gardener wouldn’t plant if it was way too easy. The struggle from the drought, heat and wind— that’s what makes the bloom matter, beauty comes from pain” He glanced at her.

“So, the struggle is part of growing the flower?” she questioned.

“Yes, exactly!” He trilled. “The struggle is what gives the flower value”

“I’ve never thought of it like that.” She pondered. Her tapping rhythms ceasing as she tilted her head at the thought. She turned her head to the man, “Are you a gardener or something?” she taunted gleefully, as her lips smirked with joy.

“How’d you know!” he chortled jubilantly, a tone of sarcasm in his voice.

“Hm, you look the type” she joked mockingly as her elbow now stood on the armrest, her cheek cupping her fists as her eyes remained fixed on the man in front of him. His hushing olive warmth rested in his irises, a sparkling verdant gaze so comforting and safe. They crinkled slightly at the corners as he smiled— a real, unguarded smile.

“The type?” he chuckled, his arched brows raising with curiosity. His arm now rested on the top of the seat, his back leaning on the armrest as he faced the woman.

“You know, mildly tough and nature driven.” She supposed, her glance drifting down to the muscular creasing’s in the fabric of his polo. “The flowers just confirm it—” she chimed. Suddenly, the carriage begins to shake vigorously, the screeching sounds of metal piercing the 2 passengers’ ears in pain. The static of the speaker increased in volatility, reverberating through the small corridor of the carriage. The woman lowered her head, pulling the soft fabric of her hoodie over her head. Darkness filled the room as she closed her eyes and covered her face with her sleeves, sobbing with tears. The man embraced the woman, covering her ears from the tortuous sounds that ricocheted the carriage. His strong stature gave the woman refuge from the situation. The bouquet of flowers fell onto the cold floor, scattering petals as it’s stringpiece unravels in an entropic mess. Foot-tapping shakes the air with taps of anguish, the shaking carriage shifting the flowers under the immense tapping of the woman’s feet. The flowers are stomped by the woman’s feet, crushing the petals into wilted and crinkly sheets.

“Dang it!” the woman exclaims in regret, realizing the extent of her actions. The violent shaking settles into tranquility as the lights of the carriage relax from their flickering state.

“Are you okay!?” the man asked, a strong sense of concern in his voice as his hand now lay on her back. His eyes follow hers as he looks down to the ground, beneath the woman’s feet were the bouquet of flowers he once held.

“I-I’m so sorry” she quavered, fretting at his incoming reaction. The tips of her sleeves were drenched with the bitter touch of distress, her cheeks a saline strip of dryness, salty remnants of gushing rivers of tears.

“No-no, it’s okay, don’t be sad.” he assured, patting her back before leaning down to gather the bundles of flowers now broken and wilted. “Like I said, don’t be stuck on the death of one flower or even many, for there will always be another seed to plant and grow!”

She opened her eyes, a mirror of sadness gleaming from her eyes. “I suppose you’re right—” she supposed, eyes now looking at the man next to him as he grasped the wilted wildflowers, eerie grey hues now replacing the vibrant colors.

“We are now arriving at Springfield Station, if this is your station, prepare to Disembark” the mechanical voice informed as the carriage began to slow down.

“Listen, I— “she paused for a second, as she recollected herself. “I want to thank you for being here next to me, it just means a lot to me right now and you’ve given me motivation to push forward, so thank you Dolce—” she thanked. The train began to slow to a complete stop, halting as the view of the underground station replaced the darkness of the tunnels.

“Springfield Station, please gather all belongings if this is your station” the mechanical voice announced over the speaker. The man stood up, still grasping the flowers in his left hand as he reached out his right-hand gesturing to help the woman up, the woman smiled, her jubilant dimples filling the air with joy as she grabbed his hand and stood up.

The man held the flowers tight in his left hand, “It’s time to leave the past, and look to the future” he declared, placing down the wilted flowers on the 2 seats they sat on. A remnant of the experience they shared, but a sign of the past they are leaving behind. As he drew his arm back after placing the flowers, a warm touch turned his cheek and before he could react, both hands had cupped his cheeks before her lips crashed into his. She kissed him with an ardor that left him breathless. Their tongues dancing in a passion of endearment, a moment of intimacy yet so fleeting. Their faces were inches apart, the warmth of their bodies radiating off each other.

“I’m looking at my future” she trilled, joking yet a sense of zeal pinned her voice. His hands embraced her cheeks in a fervent warmth.

“Hm, how can you be so sure?” he bantered, a sly smirk on his face as he spoke.

“If those are the flowers that I just withered, then you are the flower that I must grow” She spoke, gesturing to the flowers on the seat, as she reciprocated a smirk.

“Spoken like a true Gardener” he jested, chuckling as he held her hands softly.     

“Doors Closing” the mechanical voice iterated as the subway carriage doors began to close. Suddenly a young woman and a young man’s clasped arms pierce the gap between the doors, creaking open to allow them through. The pair stroll out of the carriage, walking out chuckling as they conversed.

“Wait, I forgot my stress ball” She groaned, looking back at the carriage doors.

“Looking for this?” He said, pulling out a dark blue ball from the pocket of his pants. They chuckled as they began to walk away.

“You can keep that” She insisted.

“Thank you!” the man lauded, grinning in appreciation. As they walked, his glance was stolen by the stress-ball in his left hand. An ever so miniscule red dye caught his eye, faint and dark in appearance. He turned the stress-ball and noticed a tiny hole, leaking a dark red fluid that was slightly viscous in its nature. His hand squeezed the stress-ball and that’s when it came out… gushing dark velvet blood. It soaked his fingers and palms, staining them with a cold touch. That’s when he realized the truth about Amara, but he didn’t know what to do. In an instant he sprinted to the carriage doors, breaking free of Amara’s grip as the doors began to close together. He arrived just in time, making it through the small gap between the doors as his hands rested on his thighs, panting with force.

“Doors Closing” the mechanical voice iterated as the subway carriage doors began to close. Suddenly, Amara’s arm pierces the gap between the doors, as the doors creak open to allow her in. Her face is mangled with determination and a cunning smirk.

THE END