wilting

g | no warnings apply

The flowers on her desk began as seeds. Planted in the ground, watered, fed, and fertilized. Then the same someone who carefully nurtured and protected them for so long came along with a pair of shears and clipped the stem, cutting the beautiful bulb off from its root system, killing it.

If the plant was sentient, it might have felt used. Abused. Betrayed.

But, of course, flowers don't have feelings. And they can't contemplate the motivations of others.

The same person who had killed the flowers then stuck them in a vase, with water and some plant food, attempting to prolong the inevitable just long enough for the recipient to enjoy them.

The flowers were going to die. It was just a matter of time. The events had been set into motion. The florist could do his best to make them look vibrant and healthy, but it was futile.

The end would come.

Danny didn't even seem aware of them. Vivian was nonchalant. But every time that Martin walked by her desk, she felt compelled to look up. And every time, his mouth was just the tiniest bit turned up in what was almost close to maybe being a hint of a smile, sort of.

So at the end of the day, she balanced the vase of flowers on her hip as she made her way to the elevator. She put them into the passenger's side, carefully placing files around it so that it wouldn't tip over as she drove.

As she focused on driving down the road, a single petal fought to escape from the prison of sepals. With each turn, unseen forces tugged on it slightly, eventually securing its release. It floated down, unnoticed, onto a manila folder. She parked her car when she got home and the petal slid across the one file, into another.

She didn't notice it was missing and she wouldn't have cared if she had. It was just one anonymous petal in a sea of hundreds. It meant nothing to her.

She took the files in first. After setting them on the table, she went back out and retrieved the flowers.

They didn't match the décor in any room in her home, which he would have known if he had ever been here. But it was just a flower arrangement, and even with the special plant food in the water, the flowers would wilt away and die in a few days. She would throw them away when she didn't need or want it anymore, replacing the bare spot on her table with something more permanent.

The file with the petal was ignored until the morning. Things on the desk got shifted around, and it ended up sitting underneath several other folders, the weight pushing the water from petal into the surrounding papers.

She put the folders back in her car and drove back to work. The petal was stuck now, glued to the paper, and it couldn't escape this cell this time. If it was capable of emotions, it might have felt trapped.

But, of course, flowers don't have feelings. They're just supposed to be physical representations of feelings felt by humans. Dying plants meant to indicate undying affection.

Jack had never given her flowers.

She carried the files back to her desk, where they were untouched until the meeting. People talked. Files were passed around. Martin got a hold of the folder with the petal in it. He opened it, revealing the bright reddish splotch on the white and black sheet.

Everyone saw it. Everyone knew what it was and where it had come from. But they were all professionals and the petal was insignificant, so no one said anything. Martin simply peeled it off and tossed it in the direction of the trash can, like he was taking a free throw.

He missed.

The crumpled petal fell on the floor a few feet away. No one said anything. They continued their meeting. When it was finally over, Jack got up to head back to his office. The wastebasket was out of his way, but he took the detour, picking up the flower petal and tossing it in the trashcan.

(fin.)