(When we last saw our hero Stacey, she was stripping a lavender rose of it's petals, a rose that spoke and commanded her to do so, a beauteous rose that sounded exactly like her recently deceased sister, Lana.)
"I repeat, what the hell are you doing to my roses?"
It was the boy-voice, a voice coming from a very stern fellow who had suddenly appeared in the rose garden.
"Oh, nothing sir," Stacey replied as she quickly stripped the petals and shoved them into her sweatshirt pocket.
"I saw you, you just picked one of my roses!"
"No I didn't, I stripped it."
"Same thing! What gives you the right? I grow those roses, I tend them and water and feed them and-"
"I know Sir, and they're beautiful. You're a very very good gardener. But my sister's voice was talking to me from them, and she told me to strip the petals and put them in my pocket."
A strange muffled ranting was heard coming from her pocket.
"And she died, not too long ago, and, I miss her. So I did it."
Stacey looked down in shame and acceptance. But she would not give up the petals, even if he asked her too, even if he threatened her, no way.
"Your sister? Lana's your sister?"
"Yes, hey did she talk to you too?"
The boy/man sat down in a clump among the roses. "Wow," he said. He absently picked up a clod of dirt and crushed it in has hand.
"She has been talking, yeah a lot, about some..stuff and god sometimes I can't even sleep because of that voice! blah blah blah.."
A "sound" strained from Stacey's pocket in an irate tone.
"My bedroom is right there," and he pointed to the mirror image of her house that was his house, and he pointed to the room that also belonged Stacey, on the other side of the Wall. "It's right to the left of the rose garden, so when someone's talking all night, you can't sleep." He yawned dramatically.
"That's my room too! And it was Lana's before she.. before that dang wall...."
"She told me. She told me all of it. You're Stacey."
"Yeah! She told you about me?"
"She said you'd be coming soon. She said you're a weaver."
"Well I'm more of a stitcher."
"Over her we call them 'weavers'".
"Oh," Stacey said.
And then, because her pocket began to vibrate with that frustrated muttering, she pulled a single petal out of her pocket.
"Oh finally! I thought you dunces would never figure that out!"
"Sorry Lana," Stacey and the boy/man both said sheepishly. Lana in a mood was nothing to be trifled with, even if she was just a voice coming from an aging petal. But to be scolded by her long lost Lana! It was like a dream.
"Well!" the petal announced. "At least you picked a pretty flower Stacey. Thank you. I have to tell you little girl, these petals won't last forever. And when they die, my voice will cease. And you only have so many petals. And I have a lot to tell you about why you're here. Get it? Good. So we need to get going NOW. Did you guys even notice anything? Listen. Oh yeah, this is Owen."
"Hi," Stacey said.
"Nice to meet you," Owen mumbled and they shook hands, as he jumped up.
"Yeah, it is really quiet here all of a sudden." Stacey looked quickly toward the forest as a shrill bird called. This forest grew on her right, in the west. At home it existed in the east. How funny, the sun was setting behind it, turning the sky a flaming red when at home, her forest sky welcomed a soft, bluish light. What a funny sight!
"Is that that 'thing' you were yelling about all week?" He yawned again. "Like 24 hours a day."
"Yes, but I can't believe you were actually listening."
"You're tones are dulcet," he muttered and blushed.
"So little sister, the plan is that we will have to first get you...."
And as Lana's familiar voice spoke from the rapidly browning and crisping petal held so lovingly in Stacey's hand, it seemed to drift, and break, and then cease all together.
"What?! What was she gonna say?" Stacey demanded.
"I don't know, pull out another petal!"
And so she did.
**************************
No comments:
Post a Comment