As you wander down the trail admiring the small purple flowers that line your walkway (you know, the ones that are so small they tend to go unnoticed), you realize that the trees are thinning. You soon see a lovely ivy-covered cottage.
Upon the porch sits a stringy-haired little girl in a torn dress, very much in contrast to the cottage. As you get closer, she brushes her dull hair out of her eyes with little dirty hands. Who does she remind you of?
“Are you okay?” you ask.
She rewards you with the tiniest of smiles and a nod. Sensing something is wrong, you ask her if you can sit by her. She nods again, scooting away from you as you sit. You talk to her for awhile and soon she starts to open up. Her eyes start to sparkle, lighting up her face. Who does she remind you of?
You play games with her, for she seems to crave the company and you have no desire to leave her here alone. You find during the course of your game playing that she is very bright and can be a wonderfully silly girl. As the sun is making its bed beyond the treetops, her mother returns home, yelling at her to get back inside and hasn’t she told her a hundred times not to talk to strangers. Looking at you with hate-narrowed eyes through mascara laiden lashes, not saying a word, her mother also enters the house leaving behind the strong stench of cheap perfume, alcohol and cigarettes. Child and mother are once again within their beautiful home which is not so beautiful after all.
Taking her mother’s arrival as your cue to leave, you reluctantly leave the cottage and head down the forest trail, a heavy feeling of helplessness weighing on you.
As you head down the path, you remember. Flora. She reminds you of Flora and all the other little lost flowers.
