It was over, she was gone. Cooking spray looks at her so called "mother's" flower on the ground. Her mother didn't have a corpse. It was just a flower. A rose to be exact. Pretty looking but the thorns hurt you. Cooking spray picked up the flower and analyzed it. "All this time..I was mad, yet I never got to appreciate how much she tried, she died...right in front of my eyes." Cooking spray could feel tears to start rolling down the side of her face. "And the last thing I said was " you're a horrible mother, and an even worse person" and for a first impression of her after years. That was horrible" cooking spray kept looking at the flower in her hand. There was no blood, no tears shed, and no body. Only a flower. She starts letting her tears flow down her face and starts sobbing, "it shouldn't have been her, she actually had a life" cooking spray wipes her tears on her glove and places the flower down and sits on the ground near it. She sits in silence for a moment and sighs. She picks up the flower and stands back up. She starts walking as she sees the void of white. A memory plays in her head of the poem she was told when young "A white void"
"The white void
It sits in a silent place
Never to leave
The white void
Always goes in
Never comes out"
Cooking spray sits in the silent and looks at the void. "What goes in, never comes out....I deserve to be there"
