Flowers from a Freak
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A really short story I wrote... based on a writing prompt from my writing club. I think it's cute. :3
Flowers From a Freak
Mona walked along the river, swishing the unswept red leaves around her feet and watching a few lone clouds drift over head. She had a detached smile on her face, her thoughts floating along a million miles away. She watched as a Canadian goose flew down from a nearby bridge and landed in the dark water, nearly falling right onto someone as she bumped into a stone bench.
“Gyah!” she wailed, flailing her arms and one leg to remain upright. A strong but gentle hand grabbed her arm and spun her around so she was suddenly sitting on the bench with the person. No longer fighting gravity, she noticed that the leg she bumped was suddenly hot with pain. She gripped it and hissed through her teeth; there was sure to be a purple-red bruise flowering under her jeans.
“Are you okay?” the stranger had a voice! She had forgotten all about the person, being preoccupied with not falling and examining hurt. She looked up to see who was sitting beside her; a tall, thin man, slightly pale, with a minor facial deformity. She didn't really notice the disfigurement; he was gorgeous to her. Her eyes glistened as she blushed and smiled.
“Yeah! Yeah, I'm okay, just clumsy. Sorry, I didn't mean to almost fall on you there,” she ruffled the back of her short pink hair in embarrassment. He smiled a slightly misshapen smile, fidgeting with the scruffy fedora in his lap.
“That's okay. You're the first person in a while not to avoid me completely. Though I think it was by accident, since you weren't paying attention,” he mumbled to the hat.
Mona felt a pang for the man, and put a hand on his knee, which made him nearly jump out of his skin. “Sorry! Didn't mean to frighten you!” she cringed. “I wouldn't avoid you, hun. I think people are better when you go beyond face value,” she smiled at him.
He blushed behind his slightly long stringy hair. “You mean, this doesn't bother you?” he asked timidly, starting to point to his deformity. Mona reached out a hand and stopped his.
“Doesn't what bother me?” she smiled sweetly; he blushed his gratitude in return as he lowered his arm. They both turned and faced the river, the sky turning the first shades of misty pink-orange and the afternoon traded itself for evening. More geese had gathered around the one she'd tripped for, pecking up bits of food from the water. The man had been feeding them breadcrumbs from a bag under his hat, which he took back out and continued to do.
After watching him for a few moments, Mona turned to him and said, “Hi, I'm Mona,” offering her hand. The man looked at it a little confusedly, but took hold of it and shook gently.
“Hello, Mona. My name is Blaise,” he exchanged, then let go of her hand and threw another handful of breadcrumbs to the hungry geese. Mona watched the birds gobble up the food, pecking each other occasionally, as she continued their conversation.
“That's a cool name. Any reason your parents went with that?” she inquired.
“Named for a philosopher, well, a theologian; Blaise Pascal.” He answered, throwing more crumbs. “What about you? Why'd they go with `Mona'?”
Mona looked at her feet, grinning and blushing with embarrassment; her story just wasn't as cool. “After the `Mona Lisa'; my parents where stoned hippies that fancied themselves art lovers. Sad, huh? They never where very creative,” she said, half to her black sneakers. Blaise laughed, and she smiled.
They continued to talk about parents, childhood memories, friends, funny stories, and favorite movies until the sun was nearly set, and dusk loomed it's purple head over the dusty pink-orange of late afternoon, and Blaise ran out of breadcrumbs. After a few minutes of no new food, the geese became disinterested and flew off, a couple deciding to fight a nearby toddler for a corndog. No longer really having an excuse to stay and chat, they both stood up, and stretched. Turning to each other, they readied their goodbyes.
“Well, I have to get home. My roommate will miss me. I have to cook her dinner, or else she might set the house on fire trying to do it herself,” she giggled, holding out her hand again.
Blaise grasped it again, shaking as before. “I suppose I should get home, too. My cat is going to have laundry drug half way across the house by now.” After he finished speaking, they stopped shaking hands, but stood there a moment, smiling, their hands still clasped. Then, Blaise bent and raised Mona's hand to his lips, planting a light kiss on the back. Mona blushed and giggled, squirming like an over excited 6-year-old.
“Have a wonderful evening, Mona. Thank you for spending some time with me,” he said, letting go of her hand and turning to leave. He placed the beat up fedora on his head, and tipped it to her as he walked away. Mona swooned a little, but then remembered she had to prevent a house fire. She turned back towards her house and skipped quickly but merrily home, watching out for benches in her path.
She told her roommate, Lea, over a spaghetti dinner about Blaise, and what they had talked about. Lea teased her about it, as it is in the best friend rulebook to do so. After much, “Yooouuu liiiiiiiikkeee hiiiiiiimm!!”s and “shuuuuuttt uuuuuuup!!”s exchanged between them, they finished dinner and cleaned up. They both went to their rooms and went about their nightly routines before going to bed.
The next day, Lea had classes through most of it, and Mona only had one. When she got home from it, she saw something on the porch as she parked her car. Curious, she jogged up the walk to the door, and saw that it was a vase of flowers; her favorite flowers, to be exact; buttercups and white daisies. Blushing and grinning from ear to ear, sent picked up the vase and bent to smell the beautiful things. Something hard poked her in the nose as she did.
Rubbing her tender schnoz, she straightened up and examined the source. A small white and yellow card was tucked in with the flowers. She picked it up and read it, blushing deeper and swooning a little. “To Mona, From A Freak,” it read, and she knew who'd sent them. She'd forgotten telling Blaise about her favorite childhood memory; where she'd roamed the fields behind her grandmother's house with all the wild daisies and buttercups. “What a nice guy,” she said to herself, opening the door and putting the flowers on the catch-all table.
(because I'm evil :3)
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