Friday Fictioneers – April’s Flowers

Dale rogerson

Photo courtesy – Dale Rogerson

April’s Flowers

Word Count:  100

April stared forlornly at the arrangements.  The tall one was a bit sparse and the little one looked like something her Grandmother might have on the dining room table.  Still, she longed for someone to think enough of her to send flowers to work.

Imagine her coworkers’ reactions!  “She’s just the receptionist.” They’d say, incredulous.  “She lives alone with her cats, and wears dowdy clothes!”

Maybe, April thought, she’d fix it so that “someone” did think of her that way.

She continued staring at the flowers, knowing full well that the deception would only serve to make her more miserable.



A Warrior Knows When to Accept Defeat

There are days in a warrior’s life when defeat drapes itself upon the heart; the weight of it pulls the mouth down, and every step feels like drMichael-Maier-1-Fantasy-Emotions-Grief-Contemporary-Art-Post-Surrealismudgery. There is no rising above it on a day like this. It feels so full, and leaden that the only thing to be done is to sit with it, and be morose friends for as long as necessary.

Defeat glums the soul, shrouds the light, and I am a stubborn one; I want it to do so. I want to feel its heavy-handed, tawdry weight. I languish in it, allowing it to seep into the very core of me.

What point is there in all of this? Nothing is getting better. Positivity? Shoo away, put up no fight, but don’t cower; wait in the shadows until defeat is exhausted with the effort.

Today, I am done, I am solitary, there is no hope.

It is not hopeless, I understand that; I am simply not hopeful today.

And that’s ok.

It’s a busy thing, to tirelessly keep the balls of life up in the air. Not just my own, but others’ too. I realize that I can’t keep up, so they fall, and I fall with them. I catch myself, held suspended in some sort of shadowy between-ness.

It will pass.

It’s temporary.

I have not stopped being a warrior; I’m just caving into darkness for a spell.