Two Flowers
by Ava Hernandez
John Marshall High School
Click. Click. Click.
Silence.
ClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClick!
Hurried fingers erased the atrocity on the Google Doc, then hovered fretfully over the white screen that beamed in the otherwise darkness of the room. Despondent eyes, captive by the desire to sleep and the simultaneous urge of fruitless motivation, met a mirror warily.
Alfred Raymond stood ahead of him, a devastating sight. An otherwise intrinsic author and beloved prodigy of many words, completely wordless and more unlike a genius than ever. The man frowned back, and it took a while to sink in that he was the one with a pulled mouth. These days, it hardly felt like he was Alfred Raymond. These days, it hardly felt like anything at all.
A singular, withered flower rested on a reflective table. Above the reflection was a calendar. Days were mostly a vague concept by now, but one thing was indisputable: his first draft was due overwhelmingly soon. Alfred retreated back into a stranger.
He glared humorlessly back at the empty computer. Willing one thing to become something else was mindless. The decision was clear; get up, go out, and beg for an extension. He’d fallen out of touch with the world somewhere during lockdown.
Worn-down boots were fitted slowly. A jacket was added with a similar struggle. Hands locked the door on the way out. He wouldn’t be gone for long, but he imagined it would feel like years for every second.
Until he drove into town.
Streets were oddly stagnant, and the usual atmosphere drained out. Cars were barely visible. Not another human in sight. It was a ghostly mockery of a once sociable town. Alfred checked his watch. 3:18 PM. Normally, people were rushing home from work now, or preparing to pick up small children from school. Today, it was like nobody else existed, if not for the buildings left behind.
Alfred continued down the lonely road and pulled into the parking lot of his boss’s workplace. It was a stupid decision in a desperate circumstance. But when he approached the door, he found nothing but a closed sign on it. A few more followed upon searching the town.
He looked around with watchful eyes and open ears. Leaves blew gently in the breeze, and birds flocked elegantly. The sky shed its grief and surrendered to sunlight. Little things seemed to come to life in almost cartoon ways; plants became lively as if the world wasn't at odds. Alfred inhaled a deep, rejoiceful breath of freshening air and allowed time to slow and the world to be galaxies behind, his pent-up apprehension and abject loneliness forgone. For a sacred moment, there was contentment; a temporary peace in humanity’s current war with death.
Eventually, Alfred’s mind reclaimed him, and he wandered the lonesome town until daytime transitioned to nighttime, in pure spite of his failed objectives - he’d hardly been outside of his home this entire year, and suddenly that fact felt disgraceful. He made an internal promise to never again lose sight of the smaller things about life, especially when the rest of the world had. For all of the years he had lost everything to his work and indulged his isolationism,
On the eventual drive home, a singular flower grabbed Alfred’s eye. It was healthy, almost mockingly. Carefully, Alfred plucked it off its home in the Earth and began his quest back home for the night. He realized, with his head high, that it was no question that he would be back again tomorrow, but simply a matter of when he awoke. He walked through the door with a renewed purpose and an inextinguishable sense of fulfillment. He re-homed his new plant and turned on his lights. The Google Doc had been swapped with a black screen, and Alfred soundly decided that, at least for now, that was okay.
By the time he fell asleep that night, two flowers were seated on the reflective table.