Dancing Daffodils

Yana has always loved dancing. She loves dancing on stage in front of an audience. She does a little hop when she's walking just to feel the twinkle in her toes. It's her gift - her passion.

Yana also loves flowers. She especially likes daffodils. They're oddly beautiful, she says, like a flower on top of a starfruit. They always put a smile on her face.

One day, for her birthday, Yana's father brought her to his friend's daffodil farm. The moment he took her blindfold's off, glee overwhelmed her cute little face. She could not resist but ran and hopped into the daffodils. She was really, really happy.

She did a curtsey and a pirouette here and there. The scene was touching. There they were, her dance and her flowers, the two most important things in her life. It was the happiest day of her life.

But as soon as she stepped off the field and turned around, she burst into tears. She shrieked. She vowed never to dance again. She was so pain-stricken that she could not see daffodils the way they were anymore.

All that was left was a bed of dead daffodils.

Before the noose

"Listen."

"What?"

"I can hear music. I can feel art. I can hear laughter. I can see dreams."

"Don't kid me, kiddo. This is a prison. All I see are assholes like you crying and screaming all day."

"Not here. Here we dream our dreams for one last time. Our hearts sing the songs of our hearts for one last time. For one last time, before we leave them all here. Can't you hear it?"

"... no."

"Then God bless your kind soul, my killer."

Chapter Revelation

The sudden revelation blown in his head silently. Jack did not know how to react. The sense of hopelessness and fear strangled his windpipes, his limbs shrivelled with the idea of this all being true. How did he not see this, he asked himself.

He pressed his left knee to the blood-tainted ground. Deeper, he thought. It was painful. He secretly hoped that the pain would be enough to take his mind off it. He needed this pain to refocus, to stop his embattled mind from wandering.

Just then, the dead oak branches above Jack's head began to rustle, and he could feel the cold wind against his cheeks. It seeped into his wounds. They were stinging again. He felt it for the last time...

You've done it again

This is a start, but I'm grateful You touched her.

Thanks.

Ozford!

Sigh. I dream of the day I can study in Ozford. Bachelor of Alcohol (Absinthe).