Amar hated selling the flowers that he worked so hard to grow, he felt as if he was betraying them. Selling his flowers that mean so much to him on this dreary street corner. These flowers on display. He only ever had one customer, a woman. She came every Monday morning like clock-work. Buying whatever she could. They have never conversed before.
One week the women never came, Amar sang his praises, for he didn't have to sell his flowers today. They were special to him. Flowers would never betray him, but he betrayed them over and over again. Though when she didn't come for weeks Amar grew worried for the women. Even if he had never spoken with her.
Amar, picking his best flowers began walking to the graveyard. After placing the flowers on her grave and saying a short prayer. he rose, glancing around he noticed some of his flowers wilting on a grave. Curious, he walked to the grave. It looked old yet well taken care of. There was a new grave next to the old one. Its inscription saying Maria 1955-1959.
"That is my daughter, the other one is my father." A stranger told, Amar turned around, it was the women who bought his flowers. "Your flowers, they helped me grieve. It was like they soaked up the sadness and anger. I thank you for always selling those flowers." Her body trembled as tears welled up in her eyes.
"I'm just glad they were good for something. Not just to be put up on display," Amar stood, ready to leave. "My flowers will always be there if you need them." Amar left that graveyard smiling for the first time in. He left to tend to his flowers, his friends, his only family.
YOU ARE READING
Unknown Words
General FictionA story I wrote for a Short Story class. Critics are welcomed as long as it is not flames. It's about a harried writer
