He's attracted to her.
She wants him to stay away from her.
He's in need of her.
She's scared of him.
When the synonyms of death and danger meets synonyms of innocence, so many unprecedented things happen.
This is the story of Ice and fire.
Thi...
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Ray
“Happy rainfall, Queen Ray.” Cheerful bee voice of my friends knocked me out from my honey sleep.
Honeybell!
Grunting in annoyance, I fluttered my eyelashes, and found my little friends, Belle and Everett, flying on top of my head. As usual, their little faces flashing with blissfulness. Their beautiful white glittering wings were fluttering rapidly.
“What now?” Ignoring their victorious smile of waking me, I grumbled, shoving my face in my pillow. I really didn’t want to raise myself from my bed. It was too nippy, and I wanted to hide myself under my blankets.
“You need to wake up, Queen Ray,” my little friends shouted in my ears, not missing to synchronize their sweet voices. Their voices were tiny, but were holding a good capacity to annoy someone. “You have to sprout new buds of flowers in your garden.”
“Honey bell!” I exclaimed in horror, and jumped out of my bed, staggering my little friends, who were still on top of my head. “It’s my first Sunday of sprouting buds, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Queen Ray. It’s your first Sunday of sprouting buds.”
“Honey bell! Honey bell! Honey bell!”
I wanted to hit myself for my laziness. Because of my laziness I had lost my bet with my mom. Proudly I had told her that I would wake up early than her and would sprout buds in my garden, and if I won she had to give me an apple pie.
“Honey bell! I lost my first bet and apple pie.”
Since last fifteen days, I had been waiting for this day, but chilly rain and nippiness in the weather caused me to have a more sleep than I had planned. My silk rose pj’s had not helped me at all to fight against the chilliness in my room.
Even, the human created gadget, the alarm, didn’t blare.
I had turned seventeen this month, and therefore first Sunday was very important for me.
Why?
Well, according to the rules of flowers, when any flower girl turns seventeen, she had to sprout new flowers in their hand made garden. It gives an identity to that particular flower girl.
“I’ve to have a bath.”
Without wasting a single second, I whizzed in my washroom.
“You need to throw mud on your face, Ray,” I mumbled, banging the door of the washroom shut.
I glanced myself in the mirror and grunted. I was a total mess. My green wavy hair were messy, my face was fine but the stain of drool over the corner of my lips was making my face...a complete mess.
As much as my body could muster, I freshened myself by letting drops of warm shower to fall over my body. Hastily, I wrapped myself in pink floral towel and walked out of the washroom before my mom could call my name.
