The Bouquet

A Sign of Redemption

A young six-year-old girl walked sullenly toward the bus stop. The streets of London were, surprisingly, not coated in cars today. The girl took no notice of this. She hated cars anyway: they spat out ugly fumes that seemed to make the air thicker and sickly. The girl came to an abrupt halt when she saw the bus stop. Normally, she never took the bus, preferring to walk to her destinations, for she never went very far, but today was different. She had seen a sign yesterday.

There was a tall man with sharp, hawk-like eyes standing inside the small glass shelter which was the bus stop. He was looking at the time schedule, his black umbrella shut and lightly tapping his thigh. The girl cautiously approached him, her grandmother's warning of 'don't talk to strangers' buzzing in the back of her mind. The man's eyes shifted to look at her. A smile, though the girl could tell it was fake, flitted across his lips.

"Well, if it isn't little Miss Emma Paine, the most unlucky of us all," the man said, his mouth curling in a sneer.

"I do not appreciate that title…" Emma muttered, avoiding the man's eyes. She hated her last name: Paine. Many people thought her to be bad luck. Everyone knew about the story of the car accident. Emma didn't just hate cars because of their exhaust.

The man shrugged. "Well, it isn't my fault people seem to get hurt around you," he leaned closer. "Some people say you're a witch."

"How very unkind of them," Emma said nonchalantly. "I don't consider losing my sister and mother to a car crash, my father having to be called in to battle again by the army, and losing my leg to be replaced with titanium traits of witchcraft."

The man's eyes grew wide and he reeled back. Emma felt a wave of satisfaction roll over her. This feeling was quickly diminished when the man suddenly broke into a laugh.

"Ah, you've got spunk, lass," he chuckled. "I was joking about that witch stuff. I think it's rubbish as well."

"Then… why bother me?" Emma asked, confused.

"Hmm…" the man paused dramatically. "Did you see it yesterday?"

Emma gasped, stepping back. She closed her eyes, hoping to picture the strange event that had taken place last night again. She saw herself walking out of the Childcare Center, feeling restless. Emma had snuck out her window, using the old trick method of bed sheets tied together, and she had gone to the meadow. It was a short distance from the Childcare Center to the grassy meadow.

Emma had shivered violently throughout the whole trip, making a mental note never to go out again without a coat. She had stopped in the field of flowers, watching them wave gracefully to and fro. The chilly, night wind blew slowly and steadily. It swished through the grass and gave it an appearance of water, the dewy blades glistening. Emma walked around when she suddenly saw something glisten brightly, a short flare of white light. She slowly approached it and crouched down to see what it was.

It was a rose.

The poor flower was wilting, its crimson petals drooping. Emma lightly touched it and, as soon as her fingertip brushed it, all the petals fell at once. Emma was surprised to see a single, golden petal inside. It seemed to float in midair for awhile and then, suddenly, it lifted and bloomed into a vivid gold bouquet of flowers. There were tulips, roses, pansies, chrysanthemum, and many other flowers, all gleaming with pure gold light, wrapped in a strange material. Emma gingerly lifted it and inspected it. The material was like Venetian glass…

"So, you received the message, right?" the man's voice interrupted her flashback. He was looking at her cautiously, as if she might explode at any moment.

"Yes…" Emma whispered. "At least, I think so…"

The man sighed. "I suppose I'll just tell you. You see, the wilting rose showed how your family was withering, frail and dying, like the rose. When it suddenly became only one petal, showing you in means… I'm afraid to say… that your father… has died…"

"I figured this…" Emma nodded. She couldn't cry, even though she wanted to. Her tears had already run dry.

The man blinked, shook his head, and then continued, "Well, the one petal became a brilliant bouquet. This is signifying how, soon, many good things shall happen to you, young one. You see, when one is dealt bad luck throughout their lives, but makes good despite it, they are given sanctuary after all their suffering. For, as it always has and will be, you cannot have happiness without sadness."

A sudden wind seemed to whirl around the man. He raised his head and nodded. Then, turning to Emma, he gave her a grin and walked away. Emma watched him leave, with a mixture of awe and loneliness. She felt a sudden wait in her hand and looked down to see what was there. It was the golden bouquet.

The bus's horn blazed and its headlights flashed when it came bustling toward Emma. It stopped at the glass shelter. The door swung open but Emma didn't go in. The bus driver shrugged and then shut the door. With loud squelching sounds, the bus clumsily drove away, leaving a dazed and wet girl behind.

Emma took a deep breath. She looked down at the bouquet in her hand and smiled, a bare flicker of her resolve.