A Collection Of Short Stories

Last Summer Flower

In Creative Writing we went on a nature walk and our assignment was to write something related to that. After he read it, my teacher sent me an email saying "That was wonderful! You have a great way of blending your observations into a story." Yay! So here it is.

Lucy drew her jacket tighter around her as the cold wind nipped at her face and hands. It was the perfect temperature, she decided, cold enough that it didn’t feel like summer anymore, but warm enough to not freeze. Fall was here.

Sighing with disappointment, she stood and turned to the front door of her house. As much as she would have loved to remain outdoors, wrapped in the smell of autumn, she knew she had responsibilities. Lucy reached the door and stopped. Yelling was coming from inside.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Lucy deliberated about what to do. She could go inside, but that would mean she would have to become part of the fight going on between her sister and mom. She definitely didn’t want to do that. After a minute, she came to the resolution she should go on a walk and stay up later to finish homework.

Lucy turned away from the smaller than average house and started down the steps she’d been previously sitting on. Then she walked around the house until she found the dirt trail starting in her backyard. Normally, she liked taking her time on these walks to notice all the details. Today was different; she was upset about the arguments going on in her family and it was too cold to linger anyways.

Her brisk pace made her face feel cold and she bent her head to face down. Observing a dirt trail isn’t something that most people find fun and Lucy was no exception. After only a few more steps, she was almost bored enough to turn around. Instead she lifted her head.

A group of trees were only a few yards off, providing safety for the birds not ready to bear the cold quite yet. When she turned the other way, she was surprised at how far she’d come. She’d never gone this far on the one trail before; she tended to make her own trails into the long grass on either side of it. Why not go forward?

Being away from home too long would worry her mother, but Lucy had only been outside for a little over an hour and had only left the property twenty minutes back. She wanted to keep going. As she approached the forest, the dirt got softer and Lucy’s boots left clear footprints. She noticed hoof prints off to the side and felt her heart leap. Were there wild horses?

Lucy strayed from the path to follow the hoof prints, making sure she was still leaving her own. She was adventurous, but not stupid and didn’t want to risk getting lost. The prints didn’t lead Lucy to a horse, much to her disappointment, but vanished when she reached a place where the ground was no longer soft from. Rocks made up most of the space so she lowered herself onto one of them to catch her breath.

As she relaxed, Lucy looked around, awed by the faintly illuminated landscape lit by the small amounts of sun that managed to creep around the trees. A pearl-colored butterfly danced along the tall grass. There was something magical about it, she thought. For a little while, Lucy remained on the rock, simply watching everything and feeling more connected to nature than she’d ever felt before. She stayed there until the sky started to darken.

Lucy pushed herself off of the rock she’s been using as a chair and turned to leave. However, something caught her eye and she spun back around. A small, but brightly colored flower was peaking over one of the rocks. Lucy felt her lips pulling up into a smile as she approached the flower.

When she reached it, Lucy hesitated. It was the last summer flower, she knew without ever having heard the term before. The weather had been dropping lately as multiple cold fronts moved in and it was getting to cold for the flowers to continue blooming. Even this one looked a little wilted.

The flower was neon pink and seemed to shimmer even as the light faded. The trees were beginning to cast eerie shadows on the rocks. Lucy knew she had to leave, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the plant. Finally, her hand acted on its own accord and reached forward to pluck the flower. Then it slipped the flower into Lucy’s pocket.

She went back to the path, walking faster than when she’d been going to opposite direction, motivated by the cold and the desire to get away before anyone could catch her for picking a wildflower. It was going to die anyways; she rationalized as she got to her backyard, probably by tonight. What difference does it make if it dies out here, all alone in the cold, or in my warm house?

Lucy was relieved to find that the house was silent when she got back. Her mother was in the kitchen, doing the dishes. She had tenseness about her, it was obvious in her hurried movements and bowed shoulders, and Lucy knew better than to attempt a conversation with her. It would only end in a fight. So she simply waved and went to the room she shared with her sister.

Her sister wasn’t there; she had stormed out after the fight with her mother, so Lucy had the room to herself for a short while. She locked the door and took off her jacket after finding the flower from the pocket. Then she approached the small bookshelf in the corner of the room and pulled out a book at random. She flipped to the last page and dropped the dead flower inside.

Lucy closed the book, securing it with a rubber band and held it close to her. Her father had taught her how to press flowers before he did and whenever she smashed a flower between two pages, it was almost as if her were there with her. With the book so near her face, she was vividly aware of the smell of paper it produced, tangled with the crispness of the chill that remained on her skin.

Somehow, the walk had calmed her and even managed to turn her bitterness into appreciation. Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly, she mused, or a hot, muggy summer transforming into a frosty autumn.