The Promise (on hold)

Stop Watering Dead Plants

"We need to have a funeral for Chloris," I retorted. My eyebrows twitched. "Or maybe a séance...or some kind of offering—we could carve the bones into Norse runes."

Alex looked up from her magazine and blinked slowly. "Who's Chloris?"

I gestured widely toward the dead plant.

"You named the plant?"

"Obviously. She's a plant. She wasn't going to name herself."

"Why Chloris?"

"She's the Greek goddess of flowers," I explained. "I thought it would give her more of a fighting chance."

Alex stared at me; her gaze was slightly squinted.

"Her name was originally Flora," I rambled on, "but I changed it to Chloris because Flora seemed a little too on the nose, but I kept it as the C spelling...."

"As opposed to?"

"K."

"Why?" Alex asked.

"You know," I shrugged, "to stay trendy."

"Right." Alex closed her magazine and sat up. "You really need a boyfriend.... Or at least a species of plant that's a little hardier."

Honestly, between the two things - finding a boyfriend or a species of plant I wouldn't kill, the latter seemed like it had a higher success rate. It wasn't that guys didn't like me, they did. It was that I didn't really like them. I always found some imperfection—some annoying tick-like trait that prevented me from moving anywhere beyond first base. Hell, I'd never dated anyone for longer than a few months—that was their expiry date before they started to piss me off, and I found an excuse...any excuse...to end it. And the only reason that one relationship lasted a few months was because it was a long-distance relationship, and I felt too guilty to break up with him. He liked me. A lot. Or at least a lot more than I liked him, so when we moved from Tasmania to Brisbane to attend university (the only university that would accept my unruly sister), I didn't have the heart to break up with him. I thought after a few months he'd end it, but he didn't, so I might've faked my own death just to avoid him. It seemed easier that way...kinder. But simply put, I didn't think 'true love' existed beyond romance novels, so I was more focused on...well...plants.

Or more specifically, making an amends to the plants. Alex thought I was neurotic and crazy, and be that as it may, I was convinced that—someday—I would die screaming. I would die screaming while surrounded by green, luscious plants. You'd think that would be enough to make me avoid them—and I did avoid forests like the plague, but plants were everywhere—they were necessary, and I was convinced that if I could only make them like me, then they would...protect me somehow, like the cross around my neck, or the runes I drew on my wrist. I felt like if I could just keep one plant alive, that maybe...maybe it would be enough to save my soul, or at least stop the nightmares.

Alex was the opposite. She loved nature—it was where she thrived. It was almost comical how identical twins could be so polar opposite. And this was seen in almost every aspect of our lives. I was studious, Alex hated any subject that wasn't sports related. I wore makeup and fussed over my appearance, while Alex hadn't brushed her hair in over a week. I was tidy and diagnosed with mild OCD, while Alex lived like the pig she was.

At that thought, I felt something underneath my feet.

My expression fell in disgust as I looked down and found my favourite purple, sparkly scarf on the floor. It had some red, sticky residue on it that looked suspiciously like strawberry jam.... Ironically, one of Alex's favourite foods.

I picked up the item with a scowl and turned toward my sister—if I could even call her that. "What is this?" I demanded.

Alex crunched on the potato chip she was eating. "I don't know," she shrugged, "looks like your scarf."