Pink Flower // Amodhya Samarakoon

She scampers among the flowers on her toes, her bare feet sinking into the muddy grass with each step. She does not worry about the dirt, letting it splatter up to her knees and settle under her toenails; she treads carefully so as not to uproot any plants or crush any stray worms in her search for a pink flower. The sunlight warms her dark arms and long dark hair as well as the green leaves surrounding her, and she imagines them stretching like cats after a long nap with purrs like the sound of branches rustling in the wind. She continues her hunt with the thought of a thousand green cats humming in synchrony setting a smile across her cheeks. Many knee-high splotches of dirt and well-searched flower beds later, her eyebrows arch in joy at the sight of a small pink bundle settled in the earth. Her fingers dig earnestly into the ground and pull out the flower from its roots. She watches the petals float around the muddy yellow center in the wind, almost loping around it like lazy cats meandering in the sun. She laughs to herself, picturing a circle of sleek pink kittens wandering around in beams of yellow sunlight.

Soon, her thoughts about the perfect vase for such a specimen are interrupted by overlapping shouts and giggles. Nearby, boys and girls her age kick up woodchips and swing across monkey bars. She never understood their mindless enthusiasm towards getting bruised elbows from hard plastic and sore hands from scratchy rope. Seeing no magic, no vampires or ghosts, and no quests involved in their games, she sits in the grass and admires her pink flower.

Yet, from the corner of her eye, she watches them play. Each thud of their tennis shoes against the ground make her feel more and more like a doll in a tutu who has lost her heels. So she pushes her pink flower behind her, shielding it from view.

A sudden movement behind her brings her to her feet and her eyes meet the smile of a boy. She glances down at his hands and sees them crippling the petals, his nails carelessly ripping apart the roots. He laughs at the sight of the softened pink petals mixing with dirt between his fingers. “Why do you spend so much time picking flowers - don’t you want to play with us? ” He searches her face, not comprehending her heartbreak, not seeing leaves that stop purring. She gets up, turns around, and walks through the flower bed with her heels slamming against the earth, leaving behind the rags of the pink flower lying at the feet of a very bewildered boy.