The Flower on the Lamppost

Meeting the Mysterious

Quaint and pleasant.

A curious beauty. Born before her time, a lone flower blooms.

A contrast she was, where only rustic colours painted the town. Scarlet leaves in the shape of stars adorned the vine that crept up a lamppost standing elegantly at the side of the street, beckoning passersby to delight in the warmth brought from a single candle's fire.

The robust scent of caffeine and bread would lure the humans therefrom to rest in the solace that an old café offered –a refuge from the biting cold of the night. Among those that did not resort to the comfort of their service were those that either rested on the bench beneath the lamppost or those hustling about in the streets, bothered by the tension that life had brought upon them in this present season.

And there came He.

The new-born flower let her petals slowly unfurl to the touch of the cool, as she watched Him walk down the side of the street, salient and calm. Unusual, how someone with so much presence had hardly attracted the attention of anyone around him, not a greeting, nor a smile. It was almost like He was undetected by human breath.

From scarlet to maroon, from maroon to sienna, from sienna to brunette, the borders of many leaves curled as laces like they were fading, lifeless. The closer he drew, the more of them withered, falling off the verge of life to be swept away. The flower bowed to look, all too concerned for those that were claimed from off her family that embraced the length of the lamppost.

Footsteps that marked the end of these lives slowed and paused where the flower hung, weary of the looming sorrow that first bloomed at the dawn of her short life. He looked up, a sly smile visible from beneath the heavy, dark hood that concealed the most part of his countenance.

The mildest of whispers rendered decipherable words.

"..."

So that was her name.

"Is it time yet for you to have awakened?"
She had indeed wondered, for the absence of flowers akin. "Evenso, it isn't your time to be reaped" were words that were followed by the resumption of the sound of footsteps. No eyes turned to acknowledge him; people walked past, going about their lives like the words given to her were unheard –or unspoken almost.

With leaves wilting at the pace of His stride, the departure of a fading silhouette from within eyeshot into the misty distance caused the slow disappearance of the chill that His dark aesthetic commanded and the fall of each footstep sounded distinctly, though diminishing, until it sank into the silence of the frigid night.

After the short encounter of impacting magnitude, she looked around in her daze to find the streets bare, save a few humans heading homeward; and of course, an elderly woman seated on the bench beside the lamppost, quietly reading a book. With the span of a few minutes passing by eventless, the café was closed and the only shade of incandescence to the place was emitted by the sole candle in the lamp.

The lady closed the book and rose to her feet. A brief glance towards where the dark man had treaded was all she spared before heading into a path that led to the woods and then she was gone. But was she aware? Had she sensed His presence but intentionally held her peace? The flower recalled that she had not paid attention to this woman. She would look out for her the next day though; and for the few dawns and dusks that would follow until the moment destined for her to depart this life –a moment not too far away.

So many curious beings...
~