A Delicate Flower Read online

  Copyright 2018 Chelsea Girard

  All rights reserved. This story is published to the condition that it shall not be reproduced or transmitted in whole or in

  part, in any manner, without written consent of the copyright holder, and any infringement of this violation or copyright law.

  This book is dedicated to Katey Morgan and Samantha Gonzalez, who helped edit, revise and bring my dreams to life.

  girls have helped make this book what it is today and without them, it wouldn’t have been completed.

  CHAPTER 1

  JOYCE

  I hope they didn’t follow me. My footprints only carried on until I reached the road, from there I was free. My toes became numb as the slight frost tickled beneath my bare soles. My wrapped poncho covered down to my knees yet my torso never felt so many chills.

  I ran as fast as I could, keeping her safe was my number one priority. They couldn’t find her, not today, not ever. If she cried they would trace the sound and find us immediately, but if she stayed asleep we can escape this prison forever.Despite being the epitome of evil and despair, she was beautiful. Without her I would be nothing but with her, I was the target.

  I ran until my legs gave out, until my breath froze into a bursting cloud in front of my face. I had found it, the perfect place for my princess.

  “She went this way!” yelled a man’s tired voice. I had to be quick, approaching the porch I took her out from beneath my poncho and placed her softly upon the top step. With a note attached to her blanket I left with a kiss upon her forehead and ran in the opposite direction.

  “I love you, Rose.”

  16 YEARS LATER

  ROSE

  The walls crashed above me, drywall covered my hair and fell at my sides. Bruised from my arms to my ankles, my head felt like it was being weighed down by the cement blocks that fell apart around me. My mind was still, as the windows behind me smashed open, all I felt was the calming discern of pain. My parents’ voices screamed in the distance as my wrists bled pure white, my innocence flooded out from inside me. I slowly made my way to the balcony window outside my room, not much of a balcony with barely enough room for a chair and side table. I pressed my hands hard against the freshly painted railing leaving my handprints imprinted on the unscrewed bars.

  Cries from behind became louder, wind surrounded my body and blew my hair harshly. My mouth felt as if it was sewed shut from the inside out. Unable to scream for help, my body inched closer to the railing as if I was being pushed from behind. As I drew closer to my death, my freedom poured out of every wound and I felt every memory leave. Each stitch was open and every scar bled one last time.

  A distant figure became more and more visible as it drew nearer. I felt an arm brush up beside me, but the face that appeared in front of my eyes wasn't recognizable. Her eyes were dark like marbles, her face was a pale cream with her lips white as snow. She didn't speak although it seemed that she had a lot on her mind as she stared into the distance. Her hands shook vigorously as she raised them towards me. I backed away to what seemed to be an attempt to grab me. I fell and dragged myself across the floor trying to escape this ghost like figure following my every move.

  I screamed eternally, wishing I could be heard but no sound came out. I was trapped. My legs were glued to the ground as the world around me grew. Taller and taller my walls became my cell and the door handle was out of reach. I was in a giant's room and my tiny presence wasn't wanted. I was back in my world, where I didn't matter and my existence didn't affect anyone's life but my own. As the marble-eyed ghost walked closer to me, her foot looked the size of the Great Wall of China. My body jumped from the thud of her footsteps walking closer with every step. I sat there, waiting to finally give up. I saw my world crashing around me, everything was gone and nothing mattered anymore. Her foot came closer, my hands covered my worried eyes as I was ready to be sacrificed to the gods. I spread my arms out and looked up, I took a deep breath and gave myself one last thought, why me?

  I woke up screaming, just another nightmare.

  CHAPTER 2

  ROSE

  I never understood nightmares, one moment I’m kissing the hottest boy in school the next I’m thrown off the nearest bridge. I’ve tried changing the outcome but no matter what I thought, it all felt so real and so relevant to my current situation..Except for a giant zombie apocalypse or the usual giant attack.

  Waking up this morning was not the highlight of my day, that’s for sure. Eating the same old oatmeal with a side of whole wheat toast and a glass of orange juice. I had my usual spot, closest to the doorway, second from the right, between Jane and Amelia. The table sat eight comfortably and was always prepared for the three main courses of the day, except for that day Ms. Jakes was sick and couldn’t get out of bed until dinner time. Yes, I live in a foster home for girls. I have been here all my life, since I was born. I was told my mom dropped me off next to a can of Coca Cola and some mini wheats, which doesn’t seem to rest easily for me but that’s what the older girls told me so it must be true.

  My mom called me Rose, no idea why, it definitely doesn’t suit me. I have faint blue eyes and auburn-brown curls. Nothing of the resemblance of a rose but I guess it could be worse right? I have the tiniest freckles and I never go anywhere without the necklace I was sent here with. It says, “ Delicate flower”, whatever that means.

  I was deemed as an “oddball” since I can remember, I was either drawing or writing poetry and never wanting to show my work. Amelia barged into my room one day and grabbed a picture I drew before I could snatch it back as she ran around the house, yelling “even Rose thinks she's better than us, look at this drawing. No wonder she doesn’t want anyone to see.” I loved how I drew, it was abstract and cleverly thought out. It wasn’t normal drawings, but I found that they spoke to me. The mixture of blues and purples jumped off the page and it really brought out my emotions, confused and angry. I loved the feeling of an aesthetic appreciation, beauty at its roots and the strength behind every stroke with my brush transcended into the canvas in front of me.

  As for my poetry, it was dark and fowl. I grew up wanting to leave this place but then realized nobody would want me regardless.I figured I had to be happy at some point. I found a book along a shelf in the pantry when I was six-years-old,“Two-Headed Poems” by Margaret Atwood, it spoke of tension, separation and a keen sense of connection that sparked my interesting in writing. Her writing gave me hope and purpose, a love for not only the work but the meaning between the words. I would one day be like Atwood, full of life.

  You could say I don’t fit in here or well anywhere I guess. I share a room with three other girls, all younger and more beautiful than you could imagine. They are perfect as you could say and are all prepped to leave this place, me on the other hand, I’ve never had a single interview. I’m told that the right parents haven’t come through the door yet but whenever I see parents walking amongst us and they point to me to Ms. Jakes she takes them aside and shows them another girl. Maybe I’m just meant to never leave this place, I need to change that.

  CHAPTER 3

  JOYCE

  The cabin was cold, a light wind seeped through the log walls and brushed away the dust from between the door stop. I had checked the three locks on the door twice, just like I do every night and every morning. I rinsed my dirty plate that was covered in leftover peanut butter crumbs and a leftover strawberry grass head. My glass of water had turned lukewarm from sitting on the table all day as I counted my rations. Four loaves of bread, a small container of berries and two frozen cans of lemonade. This could last me at least five weeks if I eat sparingly but I need to start eating real food again, I need more energy and protein. Meat and vegetables had been on the l
ist for months but I never got around to getting them, stealing was too difficult in the springtime.

  Crops were just starting to grow near my cabin and farmers had locked up their animals for the winter so it would be soon that I could make my move. I hope they fattened up their cows and chickens, they were hard to cook but I needed energy if I were to keep up my strength. Stealing is something I have never been fond of but I need to survive somehow. Right?

  I counted my rations again and stored them beneath the wooden cot. I had placed a thin coat upon its liner before climbing into what had been my bed for the last five years. I found this cabin while on the run, it was abandoned and had become my safe place. It was farthest from the road yet close enough to a village where I could steal food without being noticed. It was always crowded and rushed and nobody could see five feet in front of them because there would be another six people there. I liked the crowded atmosphere in the village, it gave me a feeling of safety and all the people made it easy to disguise myself if I were found.

  I was once caught stealing a banana from a trolley, I hadn’t been quick enough before the seller's child pointed me out for not paying. I ran as fast as I could as the man chased me with his butcher knife but he never caught up. My years of track and field had come in useful in my teenage years but I would never be that fast again. I needed a new and safer way of living. Then it came to me, life or death.

  As I brought my coat up to my nose, it smelt of grass shavings and old shoes, a great combination if you ask me. Nothing makes my heart melt more than a warm cot and silence. I haven’t experienced a full night's sleep in a decade, maybe longer. But soon things will change, I’m sure of it.

  CHAPTER 4

  ROSE

  I gave Amelia one last chance, I promised myself I would. I knew she had done it all along and I couldn’t stop myself anymore. Ruining my painting was the last straw at what she probably took as a funny attempt to test me again. This time, this means war.

  This wasn’t the first time she’s done something like this to mess with me. Just because she’s younger and leaving with a family next week, doesn’t mean she’s better than me..right? I have been here so much longer than all the girls who come through here yet I never have the opportunity to meet with families and show them how much they can love me. I should have first pick right? At least be seen first, you would think they would want to get rid of me after 16 years of being in this place. Miss Jakes always said I was special but clearly there was nothing special about me if nobody wanted me, even after all these years.

  I sat in my room most days, bed was in the corner of the room with a white nightstand next to it with a cute ballerina lamp. My sheets were covered in flowers and my bed was always made to perfection. I kept it this way to impress families that came in to see how the foster girls were doing. They always made a point to say how beautiful my bed looked and how organized I am. It made me feel good to know my efforts were noticed now only if they could notice me.

  With my canvas laid upon my bed and my paint palette in my hand, I was ready to prove myself. I would create the most beautiful painting and have it displayed in the living room for everyone to see. If families saw how talented I was, they would have to accept me into their home as their own.

  My brush ran across the white background as if it was dancing, no music, no rhythm, just the movement of my hand that connected to my mind’s own symphony. I felt the cold air brush my hair from my face from the crack in the window but I continued to paint, I was in my element and nobody could stop me. With mixtures of blue, purple and yellow, my abstract art was conveying all my emotions in one. I spent four hours working endlessly on the painting that could potentially save my life. I finally froze once I ran out of my favourite blush-blue mixture. It was perfect.

  “Dinners ready Rose!” yelled a voice from one of the other foster girls. I couldn’t stop now, what if I had to add something, what if it got ruined.

  “Coming, just a minute!” I yelled back nervously. I had to hide my painting. Nobody could see it until its debut and if before, I know it would be destroyed. There was only one place nobody would dare find my work, in the attic.

  I went downstairs for the typical Thursday dinner, mashed potatoes that were smothered in butter and garlic seasonings, a really dry chicken and a few baby corns for every plate. I noticed one plate was missing, it was Amelia's. I’ve never been so happy in my life. I was happy for her of course but more excited that I didn’t have to deal with her anymore. Problem after problem it was always my fault, even if it was my painting or drawing being destroyed.

  After dinner I sped off to my room, faster than usual. The thought of a break set my mind into a scream of joy. This was my hope, Amelia would be gone and I would be next in line to be adopted. Well, that was the plan anyways.

  I grabbed my painting from beneath my bed and ran to below the attic. The attic had a pull ladder that came down but we were forbidden to go up there. Miss Jakes said there were dangerous chemicals and floorboards that were loose and didn’t want us falling through the floor. I didn’t believe it one bit.

  As I waited until everyone was in their rooms, I crept slowly along the pale blue wall that faced the stairwell. My eyes became clenched together as the nervousness began to kick in. What if I was caught in the middle of the act and Miss Jakes or one of the other foster girls destroyed my painting and I were to never leave this hell hole.

  My stomach turned in knots as I crept closer to beneath the attic. I jumped to reach the attic drop-strings just barely brushing its frailed tips. My feet landed with a loud thump to the carpeted floor that sent shivers down my spine. Thankfully, nobody heard my failed attempt to become a gymnast so I would try again.

  I’ve been so use to failing, I sat on the ground in my own fear, waiting to be told I messed up again and nobody would ever love me. That I wasn’t good enough and that my life as a foster kid would be the end of me.

  I tried again. Gaining my strength to stand to my feet, I reached for the string again and barley touched the shredded ending but caught one of the lingering pieces and the attic stairs dropped squeaking on the way down. Dust and the smell of old soil came down from the attics opening. The stairs were dark brown and looked as if they had just been redone yet the rust on the hinges spoke otherwise.

  As I crawled up the steps to the attic, my mind began to rush due to my fear of the dark and cramped places. I’ve never imagined myself getting to this situation in a million years. I’m creeping around my own house because I have to hide a painting. What is wrong with this household?

  As I entered the attic, it was dark and frigid. My eyes started to become accustomed to the lighting after a few bumps into some boxes full of god knows what. I felt for a light along the boarded walls but only came across a gas light candle that sat on an old nightstand. The burner lit a flame that only remained visible for seconds at a time, everything in the house is old and was never reliable so it didn’t come as any surprise. Nothing surprises me anymore.

  As I got closer to the end of the attic where I planned to hide my painting, I looked around for the perfect hiding place and found a small bassinet, behind an old mattress. The blankets were old and tarred yet they smelt fresh and had a soft feeling to the touch.

  I bent down to move the bassinet when something fell out from one of the unravelling wooden sides of the basket. The brownish note only read a few words yet I felt as if I heard them before. “My delicate flower, Rose.”

  CHAPTER 5

  JOYCE

  My heart stopped.

  I heard a loud bang upon the front door but nobody could find me out here, right?

  I gathered everything I could fit into my small bag and hide in the secret room beneath the carpet in the living room. The bangs became louder. They were men’s fists.

  I could hear men’s voices walking above me from the beneath room. Their footsteps were loud and purposeful. My breathing became heavier as their feet stopped walking amongst the c
abin, they began talking but not to each other, to me.

  “We know you’re here Joy, Davis wants you back.”

  I covered my mouth to hide my whimpers. I ran into the darkest corner of the room, next to the heater and between some cans of peas. Why would he want me after all these years. For all he knew I was dead.

  “We’re not leaving Joy, you either come with us or die where you’re hiding.” a faint voice came from the bedroom.

  I could survive down here, I had prepped it for a situation like this, but I never thought I would have to use it sosoon. I also couldn’t move down here or they would hear me. The floorboards were old and soggy that they made a squishing noise if you walked with a flat foot.

  I tried to hold it together, my tears turned into a silent cry and I had to cover my mouth so no noise would come out. They knew I was here. The only thing I didn’t know, if it mattered if they found me dead or alive.

  CHAPTER 6

  ROSE

  My next few days were normal within the foster home. Amelia finally left after a dramatic kiss to the front door before she skipped away to the car with her new family. I was finally at peace with my drawings and was rarely disturbed by girls running past my room because the spring weather kept everyone but me outdoors. I loved staying inside my comfort zone which I rarely left. What was the point? If I can’t be happy in the situation, why would I put myself there in the first place? I was always asked to come outside and enjoy the fresh air but I just shook my head in disgust of sweat dripping down my back from the humid air. Russia always had the most humid and disgusting air.

  I haven’t left these walls in over 16 years. Silly, I know but I feel safe inside and as if nothing bad could ever happen to me within the safety of where I grew up and where I will probably spend the rest of my waking days.