The Wishing Flower

The Wishing Flower

By London McCombs

Blossom had always been good at magic; in fact she had been called the best witch there ever was. As the years went by Father Time had not been so kind her leaving, her abilities weaker and weaker after the night when she received her last daisy necklace for a reason she had long forgotten.

The old witch watched outside her window every Sunday morning to watch the young witches and warlocks as they would practice their magic, beautiful displays of light flew across the sky transforming into bright doves and butterflies’ wings. 

Sometimes her mind would wander to the days when she was the one breathing life into the dull, grey town of Moonshire. Seeing the smiles her magic brought to its people when in the heart of looming grief. It made Blossom feel warm from head to toe, a feeling her mind hid from her.

She simply was not who she used to be. A pain in her heart floated into her memory, a smile she knew too well. You mustn't give up now Blossom, you still have a chance to get me back if you truly looked up, just once. 

Blossom closed her eyes and tried to recall a face she couldn’t quite remember. I think it’s about time I went to the market. The rickety old witch grabbed the arm of her chair standing for what felt like the first time in 30 years.

Her feet shuffled on the wooden floor of her house, sending giant clouds of dust swirling into the air around her as she slowly edged closer to the door of her house. 

A low creak resonating off the battered wood planks and she left.

Moonshire was a beautiful town, plants of all kinds lined the streets and flowers grew out of every available crack in the earth, witches and wizards from all over the world came to visit the foliage alone. But it hadn’t always been that way, in fact not that long ago it was on the verge of extinction until a brave young warlock decided to stand up against the great evil that nearly drove Moonshire into the pit of death.

He had once been a hero every house knew the name of, a hero that everyone knew the looks of, a hero with sapphire eyes, but as time and tradition slowly crumbled like forgotten buildings, so did his title.

Blossom stepped through the streets of the ancient town until she came across the library.

Yes, this is where I wanted to go… what was it that I needed again? Thick clouds hid the answer from view.

A high pitched ring echoing through the shop as she walked through the door. The librarian glancing up only for a moment to see who had entered her home before her eyes rested back down on a thick floating book.

Blossom ran her hand across the spines of the old books until one caught her eye.

It’s leather cover was the color of emeralds, the words along its siding spelled out the title: Mystical Items of old: power, longevity, and magical restoration.

“Magical restoration,” the words slipped off her tongue like a snake, her eyes widened and quickly she snatched the book off of its shelf and flew through its pages.

Her wrinkled hand stopped when she found what her mind had been seeking for, her hazel eyes searched in desperation. “Too far, too far, too far,” she whispered as she read through the countless magical items that bled into the page.

Rip. Her finger tore through a page. Shocked Blossom carefully stopped her search and stared at the fragile page beneath her hand.

The wishing flower. It told her. 

Location: Moonshire forest. 

The words burned her. Life upon a page… you could get me back.

“Mrs Tolle,” Blossom piped up.

 The ancient Librarian’s tired eyes cut into Blossom. 

“Do you know anything about the wishing flower, and where one would happen upon it?” 

The ancient woman’s dark eyes creeped down to glare at Blossom, “No… No one has ever seen one in over a hundred years,” she then looked back down at her page.

“B-but you must know, or someone else must, can you think of anyone… anyone at all?” Blossom speech rushed over itself.

“I do,” a warm voice cleared Blossom’s mind.

Blossom turned over her right shoulder to see a pair of sapphire eyes staring straight at her.

“You do, please tell me, I’ll give you anything,” Blossom plead with the stranger.

 The eyes turned up, “I do not desire anything that you possess. I cannot tell you where this item is: I must guide you there.” the voice answered and slithered out of hiding.

Blossom caught her breath as a tiny green snake creeped out of the shadowy stacks of books before her. 

“A naga’s curse,” the snake explained, “I did not used to be this way. I was a magical being such as yourself but now am reduced to this… I cannot possess the flower because of my reptilian body, I guide others to a fate in which I cannot receive.”

Blossom nodded in understanding, “Guide me then, snake, for this is my only hope.”

The old snake bowed with a turn to the door, Blossom followed behind with shuffling feet. 

<><><>

Moonshire forest was glistening with life, a life Blossom wished she could give back to her village and its people. This was it, even if the snake lied, this was her only choice.

“Tell me about yourself,” the snake spoke up and they traveled down the smiling endless road to the sacred flower of wishes. 

“What is there to tell, I am but an old witch with no magic and no story,” Blossom replied.

The old snake looked up at her with an emerald gaze that felt familiar, “You are mistaken… a witch with no magic is a story indeed.”

“It may be, but it is one I would rather leave forgotten,” Blossom’s words escaped in dragging steps.

“Is that why you seek the flower?” The snake inquired.

“No, though I hurt each time a memory tries to surface… I push it back, knowing that I am better without it.”

“A kindred... I hear you,” The snake seemed to whisper, “We are soon near, I must inform you that the flower is well guarded… you may be old and magicless but I know that you are well capable of defending yourself.”

“Perhaps.”

“I cannot enter the glade in which the flower conceals itself in, so you must enter alone,” the snake went on.

“Reassuring,” Blossom muttered.

The snake gazed at her with his sapphire eyes, “You must trust me,” his words grew a warm cage around Blossom’s heart.

You must trust me… Where had she heard that before? Her memory whispered through a foggy mind, her hand naturally clasping her daisy necklace. 

“I will,” she didn't know why but she accepted anyway.

“Good, listen carefully now,” the snake slithered closer, “you must be respectful to the glade. Do not disturb its life… you must pick the flower with both hands, to show your loyalty to its magic… and you must keep your mind open.”

Blossom nodded.

Open, perhaps it is, perhaps not… I can’t quite recall...

The snake quickly slithered back to the path and stopped at two trees intertwined in a most curious way, as if they were embracing yet could never touch.

The snake curled up silently, he said nothing.

We are here again. A voice echoed through Blossom’s hazy mind.

Carefully Blossom stepped through the trees, a rich and welcoming glade greeted her with delicate pink butterflies and colorful singing flowers. Standing alone on a cold grey rock grew a drab slouching flower void of color.

So the book hadn’t run out of colored ink. Blossom mused.

She stepped closer making sure not to disturb any life in the glade as the snake had warned her. 

As she ventured she began to see the valley, though beautiful it was solemn. It cried through the dew on the grass and it wailed through the rustling of the trees. Shadows spat at Blossom’s ankles as she approached the flower.

Her hand began to shake as she reached out to grasp the delicate bloom. 

A faint crisp cry echoed through the silent glade. Blossom’s heart felt warm.

I missed you. A loving voice parted the clouds in her mind and all at once a lifetime came back to her. 

Blossom fell to her knees. Morning dew splashed out from underneath her fall, butterflies and petals escaped on the breeze as the sun wished them off. 

“H-how could I have forgotten you?” The old and tattered witch whispered into the grass.

Cascades of sunlight filled her chest, kind hellos, silent smiles, and loving gazes whisking away the choking smog in her mind… “Hello dear,” a voice she knew too well, the smile that had given her that last daisy necklace, he came to greet her again.

Within an instant everything came clear to her, except her magic.

But she didn’t need that anymore. The snake smiled, and so did the Hero that time had no longer forgotten.

The end.