yellowhorde

She didn’t know why her tears were falling, couldn’t even guess. And she didn’t want to know, to understand. It was enough that she was still capable of emotion of any sort.

With guarded hands, Ellen took hold of the thorny stem, positioned the shears and cut the tiny flower’s life short. A momentary twinge of consciousness cut through her for destroying such delicate beauty but it passed quickly. Again she marveled at the sensation of feeling…anything. It proved she was still alive after all this time.

A wry smile touched her lips at this thought. Of course she was alive. Her heart still beat within her chest, pumping oxygen throughout her body, her lungs continued to expand and contract with the simple act of breathing. But emotionally she was dead and had been for longer than she cared to recall.

A small window opened in her mind and she caught a fragment of memory, dim and dreamlike. Flowers surrounded her, large bouquets with blossoms bigger as her child’s fists, clenched so fiercely at her sides. Voices murmured like the sea about her and the riotous flowers cast a false cheerfulness to the surroundings.

She remembered walking forward, placing her hand upon the varnished surface of the coffin, peeking in. The face that greeted her wasn’t her mother’s face. She knew that immediately. There had been some mistake. Her mother smiled and laughed. The face before her was still and silent.

It wasn’t her mother. It was a stranger that had stolen her mother’s likeness, that’s all.

But even as she told herself this, a muffled sob escaped her tight throat and unleashed a warm rush of tears. Her heart knew the truth of the matter.