*WINNER of the XOXO Connects flash-fiction contest for a publishing contract with Pocket Books.*
What's your deepest, darkest desire?
Shelby Weeks is a six out of ten on a good day, but her brains and ambition make up for her woeful lack of allure...
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Sabina Herrscher walked down the polished marble stairs of her home, using the oak rail to steady herself. With her free hand, the young woman rubbed her dress' delicate, black fabric. Her usual attire consisted of a wool-blend school uniform or cotton yoga pants with hoodies, and the slippery polyester felt foreign against her skin. As she reached the ground floor, Sabina drew back her hand and a small piece of white cardstock fell out of her bell-shaped sleeve. After rolling her eyes, she ripped the plastic tether attaching the tag to the garment before glancing at the price printed on the bottom.
$349.99
Crumpling the paper and tossing it on a side table, Sabina pulled the sunglasses perched on her head down to her nose and walked out the open front door. The designer shades helped block the glare of the late-winter sun, as well as hide her tear-streaked cheeks from the delivery people as she dashed past catering trucks, rental vans, and other totally useless merchants parked in the circular driveway.
Why did people feel compelled to open their homes to feed and entertain guests on the most painful day of their lives? Couldn't they grieve in peace without having to pretend to be interested in stupid anecdotes about someone who was gone forever?
Sabina took a deep breath to keep herself from crying again as she passed a small box truck labelled Frühling Florist and decorated with pictures of colorful bouquets. Unlike the others that had serviced previous Herrscher family parties and gatherings, she'd never seen this one before, but as Sabina reached the adjacent walled garden, thoughts of vendors left her mind.
Pushing down on the wrought iron handle, she opened the heavy, oak gate. Inside, the miniature jardin à la française looked nothing like she had remembered. Once tidy and full of life, the garden had been devastated not only by the harsh winter, but also from the recent absence of its caretaker's loving hand. Brown leaves littered the gravel paths, withered weeds dotted the half-frozen flower beds, and even the evergreen boxwoods had lost their perfectly manicured shapes.
A shiver ran through Sabina, but it wasn't from the air's temperature. In fact, the sun's rays – trapped in the redbrick enclosure and safe from the wind – had warmed the space to a comfortable level. The apprehension came from something she had avoided lately: thinking about the future.
Who'd tend to this small oasis? Was it even worth cleaning up now? Was anything worth it at all?
She balled her fists and sighed. It was inevitable, really. Life went on for the living, and the dead stayed dead. But first they needed to be buried.
With a forced chuckle at her morbid thoughts, Sabina checked her watch. It was time and she needed to go, yet she couldn't bear to leave. Instead, her gaze fell on an overgrown rose bush – a climbing Golden Celebration that had the sweetest fragrance when in bloom – with its thorny stems drooping every which way, badly in need of a good pruning.
Sabina's breath caught in her throat when she realized something was growing at the base of the shapeless jumble. With trembling hands, she pushed the sunglasses off her face to get a better look, but the view remained unchanged. Rushing forward, Sabina stepped onto the thawing beds and crouched to touch the small, white petals dangling atop a slender stem just a few inches off the ground.
