Margareth rushed towards her old friends house to confirm if the news she got this morning are true. Out of breath and still sweating, she ran towards the front door as soon as she paid the cab driver. Rang the doorbell once, a clump in her throat blocked her voice from coming out. The door opened a crack, a woman aged 40 in black with disheveled appearance looked back at her with tired eyes burdened with sadness.
"Margareth, come in. Get yourself a place to sit." the woman said as she opened the door wider to let the girl in.
As the girl neared the living room, the clump in her throat tightened and her heart ached as she looked into her old besfriend's face inside the glass of a coffin. Pale and peaceful, an image of a girl in her 15th year this year that fell into a deep slumber.
Dazed, Margareth sat down on the sofa to the opposite side of the coffin, still processing the image in front of her. Her friend's mother, Mrs. Maxwell handed her a pastel violet envelop that reminded her strongly of her best friend's name. She opened the letter with a heavy heart, fear and sadness engulfed her as she unfolded the velvety paper.
"Dear Margareth" the letter started.
Dear Margareth,
How have you been? It's been so long since I hang out with you. I can't remember the last time we chatted nor the last time we picked lavenders to soothe our stressed minds because of math assignments. I hope my advises remain in your mind, the colors I restored in your life remain vibrant, and I hope tears stopped flooding your troubled heart. I gave you courage I never have so please sustain it as you go further in life. Introduced to new people, you start to forget me.
I fought my battles alone and then lost meeting my limits and at last, I can fade away. I have done my part I guess.
I remember you calling me your vase of lavenders because I kept away the troubles. Guess lavenders do wither for I bet you're reading this letter after I'm gone. I will say my goodbye now. I hope you do well after I'm gone.
Yours truly,
Mauve
Margareth started crying as soon as she finished reading the letter, reminded by the memories
she had with her deceased best friend who died from heart disease.
YOU ARE READING
Your Vase of Lavenders (A Flash Fiction)
General FictionWhat it feels like a withered flower? A question we sometimes ask to ourselves. -Artwork cover not mine, credits to the rightful owner of the artwork.
