Weary Wallflowers

"Hi? No. Hello? What's up? God, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of myself."

She hopelessly stared at the deserted page that was supposed to be a response to an email from her colleague.

Deep breaths and an hour later, she managed to send a reply consisting of a “Thank you” and a great amount of remorse since she missed a comma after "Hi"

Her face sank in her hands, sitting over hurled dresses. Various shades of black, but it wasn't making it any easier to pick.

"This one is comfortable," she said, gazing at her reflection dressed in a black, baggy jumper and grey, skinny jeans.

The sink was overflowing with red-tinted water. Don't worry, it was lipstick. With a dull face, she gazed at it, facing down. It was her third attempt putting on her make-up. But, this time it was too red. Her lips begin to peel and she let it go. Ten past nine, already late.

Letting out a sigh, she tied her brunette hair in a messy bun. A sigh that was too well practiced and foreseen as well. She couldn't tell why she said yes in the first place. Being spontaneous and simultaneously an over-thinker was indeed, the perfect way to live hell.

Five minutes later, she was snuggled up in her bed, looking at her phone lighting up again and again. She rolled over and curved, trying to sleep on her tears.

She imagined and looked for objects to be them for a second, to be still and inanimate, they said it helps. She became the moon and she was so cold and lonely, there was no light there either, she only yearned and yearned and a part of her was always ablaze.

She became a rose and suddenly all she could see was her thorns, the rest was nothing but a temptation. She became the ocean, afraid of its depth, an escapist trying to evaporate just to dwell in itself in the end. She became so many things, only to live herself again.

Last time, she saved herself by calling in sick. But this time she thought of another idea.

"I was busy," she said looking at her wiggling feet.

"With what?" he asked.

"My cousin's wedding is near, we were shopping till late at night," she replied, avoiding eye contact.

"I see, we had a great time. I hope you make it next time."

"Yeah, sure. Definitely!" she chuckled, awkwardly.

As he was leaving, he turned around and said, "Oh, Violet, I forgot to mention that Mr Cameron needs you in the office."

"Got it. Thanks!"

When they saw Violet's pale face and troubled eyes as she stepped out of the room, her colleagues couldn't help but ask what did their boss tell her.

"I...I've been promoted to represent our clothing brand. They're sending me to France!" she cried. Roars, a few gasps, many congratulations and someone was hugging her unconscious self as she was forcing a smile and feeling her disorganized heartbeats.

"Be brave, be brave, be brave. I can do this."

She glanced at her vacant suitcase, wide open over her bed. Clenching her trembling hands, she began taking deep breaths, again and again. "What is wrong with me?" she muttered, gawking at the floor.

A moment later, and she was already finished typing a polite message, rejecting the offer of Mr Cameron. Her shaking finger was lingering over the send label when she received a call.

"VIOLET? CONGRATULATIONS! We are so proud of you!"

She sobbed, covering her mouth. Her mother's cheerful voice and indistinct chatter kept praising her.

Violet was reclined in her seat and was jotting down every single word she was about to say in her coming presentations. From the pleasantries to the goodbyes. Making the most of her suffocating flight.

Her days would be spent dodging panic attacks with the help of the pills and avoiding every single person who approached her.

As one of the collaborators began talking to her in one of the meetings, she kept nodding and thought, "If only you knew how much I hated myself and all this, you'd pull back a few inches, if you knew how I speak to myself, you'd set yourself apart and if you knew who I am, you'd leave, at this very moment."

Her nights would pass by longing to go back in her compartment and salvage from the hotel's uncomfortably large bed or in reminiscing every single mistake she ever made. It would get hard to tell sometimes if she was feeling everything or that was what being numb felt like.

Each time she was asked to join her collaborators to see Paris, she'd come up with a new excuse. This time she thought headache would be a good notion, but the disgust in her colleague's face made her feel terrible. Violet joined them, however, regret being her loyal ally, did her good.

"Thank goodness. It's the last night," she said turning the lamps off after an exasperating day which everyone relished except her despicable self. It was what she called herself, "Me and my despicable self."

The chocolate-filled croissants would melt in her mouth and the sips of brewed coffee, delightfully complimentary. She couldn't help but smile at the thought of all this being over and going back home.

The others had left early and told her to wait ‘till they call her to give the address she was supposed to arrive at. From there, they would go to the airport.

A few pretty songbirds sat over a branch of the tree she could see from the window. Violet looked at them in wonderment and then noticed the gorgeous, crimson roses around the willow.

She grabbed her purse and left the restaurant. Their scent was just as refreshing as their appearance. Closing her eyes, she had another whiff. Her arm forcedly pulled back.

Violet screamed running towards the masked man riding the bicycle who had snatched her purse. After uselessly chasing him for ten minutes, she stopped in the middle of a narrow street.

"No, no, no... This can't be. This isn't... Help! Help me! I just want to go home!" she choked.

A few people passed by, seeing right through her. But an elderly man stopped.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking at her despair.

"Someone stole my purse. I need to make a call," she said, breathlessly.

"Do you want me to take you to the police station? I can easily tell you're not from here."

"No, I just need to make a call to my colleagues. They'll come after me."

"I don't have a phone, here." He handed her a few pennies.

Violet seized it and ran inside a store across from her.

"Yes, yes. Near a restaurant named Fleur. What do you mean? It's not my fault! No, I don't just want to leave, stop making this about me! I want the belongings back! I have the copy of our contracts in that purse!"

She lowered her voice, "Stay right here? Are you even listening to yourself right now? How am I? Where am I going to spend the night?"

Violet sighed rubbing her forehead.

"Alright then." She ended the call.

She stepped out of the store and saw the same old man sitting on his blanket in front of a restaurant.

"Are you—?"

"Homeless? Yes."

"I'm so sorry. I promise to give your money back."

"Nah, don't be sorry for me and don't worry about it kid. You're just as hopeless as I am."

"Excuse me, sir. I work for one of the leading clothing brands. This is just an unfortunate accident. I'll pay you twice the amount of whatever you've lent me."

"Very well then. There's plenty of space on this blanket. Make yourself home. Because now, this is all you have."

Violet pursed her lips and walked away. She sat on one of the plastic chairs near the restaurant's entrance. A few minutes later, a waiter approached her and after exchanging a few words, he began shaking his head.

After grinning, the old man straightened the blanket and she sat there quietly, her face red as a tomato. Her dress which she ironed for an hour was now creased and tinted. Her life flashed before her eyes, it all came down to this day, just like that.

The nearer it got to dusk, the colder the night rendered. Violet was in the corner, curled up in the other blanket the man left all for her.

She hadn't spoken a word, but she desperately wanted to. The silence she always craved, was deafening. The solitary she rummaged for, was heartbreakingly lonely. And the urge to escape was now not even a choice. Before her eyes, the bustling crowd was flocks of dragons, and she the tiny rabbit, any second attacked.

With his shaky hands, the old man collected the few pennies pedestrians had tossed their way.

"Well, by the grace of your innocent gazes, I've made more money than usual. So, what can I get for you? Sweetbread or you want a cold drink?

"I don't want free food."

"Ah, good luck with that."

Half an hour later, she was in a brown apron, washing the piles of the dishes in the restaurant, sobbing.

Violet wasn't even trying to eavesdrop on their conversations, nor was she getting a hold of what they were saying, but from the frequent tsk-tsk, she could dwell in self-pity comfortably.

One of the waitresses gently tapped on her shoulder.

"Hey."

Violet wiped her face with her sleeves and replied, "Hey."

"It's my birthday tomorrow. We are having a little celebration tonight. There's a nice place we always go to. Would you like to join?"

Violet smiled, never thinking one day it would make her so happy to be invited. They stepped out of the restaurant. Violet looked at the homeless man and then at the girl who had invited her.

The bonfire was blazing and little sparkles of flames were leaping joyously here and there.

A young boy finished singing a soulful, French love song while playing his acoustic guitar. The symphony had left everyone feeling touched.

They were left in tears of joy after the old man cracked one of his jokes. Two lovebirds were holding hands, softly talking with each other, sharing sacred secrets, making lasting memories. The birthday girl was elegantly moving to the rhythm of the music with her eyes closed. Violet stared at each of these beautiful strangers, for good.

"If you had the chance, would you be young again?"

A boy randomly asked the old man.

"I'm younger than most of you in here,” he winked.

"There's nothing fun about being young," Violet muttered.

"Oh, there's a lot of fun in being young, there's just no fun in being you," the old man said, bluntly.

A few gasped.

"Well, I can't argue with that." Violet smiled.

"No, I think she's right. I mean... We're nothing but living expectations. Dealing with consequences we didn't even cause. Being heartbroken half of our youths. Always taken for granted and told we don't know anything. Chasing what they labelled as success in an endless marathon. Trying to figure out what they mean when they say live the most of your years. And then it's too late. We see the world as it is dwelling in all its troubles and there's nothing we can do about it because it's the age that matters, nothing else."

The aura was hushed after the boy confessed his grim muse.

"They make you live a perfectly depressing world, and then ask you why you're sad," Violet said out loud.

"Have you heard about the cursed princess?"

The old man asked looking at their gloomy faces.

"Oh, please." Violet covered her face.

"Is this another of your dad jokes?" said the boy.

"Oh, story time!" the birthday girl cheered.

"Once upon a time, there prevailed a happy kingdom of a very happy people. Does that sound right?"

They shook their heads.

"Once upon a time, there lived a miserable and greedy King of an utterly depressed nation, but he was very satisfied himself though. The hopeless people had no other choice than to dwell in hefty surcharges and famish themselves since the King never listened. But little did the King know that there lived a mighty sorcerer who had been patiently waiting for the King to have his firstborn child. The second night of the princess's birth, the witch cursed her. From that day on, she would see the world in black and white, but its tragedies in colour.

The princess grew up thinking this was what they all saw, and there was no such thing as colour. But one day, when she was old enough to leave the castle, she saw everything in colour, starving kids rummaging the waste. Gloomy farmers working endlessly, so on and so forth.

The princess kept rubbing her eyes along her stroll and didn’t speak, lest they would recognize her. With her shivering hand, she yanked the hood of her crimson robe and covered her face so they don't see her being so frightened.

She walked out of town and was now alone in the wilderness where she saw the witch, in colour.

'How does it feel?' her deep voice growled.

'What do you want from me?' the princess cried.

'There's a flower that I need, it grows in ruins, reclined to walls. Find it. And I shall break the curse.'

The witch disappeared and the princess couldn't understand that how would she ever be able to find that flower when she sees it all in grey? It probably grew among debris and collapsed walls which would make it even more difficult.

She wandered around until she was weary and needed to catch a break. Her hem caught up with something and she fell on her face. The princess stood up and tucked her clothes. Her eyes stopped at the red rose sparkling in silver and gold—"

"Are you making it rhyme on purpose?" Violet interrupted.

"Shush!" said the birthday girl.

"So where was I? Oh, yes. The princess sat across from the enchanted rose standing out. But she couldn't make herself pluck it. She only gazed, at such a beautiful tragedy. After that day, she watered the flower every once in a while. When she became the Queen, no one in the town was left out. A day arrived when she saw her village merely in black and white and that flower was the only thing she cherished watching.

If you have been blessed enough to see what we miss, why not embrace it?

It's not a curse, but a gift to see such beautiful tragedies. What's the fun in perfection? May the flaws stand out."

"Okay im coming tonight"

Violet sent the text as she rapidly put on her rosy dress and left the house.

Her friend was waiting outside, holding two cups of coffee. Just when Violet grabbed hers, she spilt it all over her own dress.

"Oh, no! What are you going to do?" her friend asked.

"No idea." Violet chuckled and added,

"I'm standing out."