S1lver_Writes

Dawn sun filtered through the hand-woven curtains as Adelaide Morris' eyes flickered open. The antique dresser sat beside her bed as usual, a framed photo of her mother and father on top of it, smiles plastered on their faces as Adelaide held a beetroot in her hand, blackened soil still clinging on.

Adelaide's emerald eyes traced a new pattern over the popcorn ceiling. She saw a cake this time, very fitting as it was her 15th birthday. Before she had moved to the countryside, her friends had told her about something special that happened on this day. It always escaped her.

The smell of pancakes wafted into her nose as she rose from the cotton depths of her covers. Mama and Papa are downstairs then, she thought to herself. Pulling the battered handle back, her dresser opened, revealing many organised piles of plaid shirts and shorts. Selecting a honey-coloured plaid shirt, she pushed the drawer back in, satisfied.

From the second drawer she retrieved her favourite dungarees, something that her old friends had given her before her parents decided to go off-grid. Best decision of their lives; she didn't have to worry about people or homework or anything really, though she did miss her friends.

But the plants were her friends now. She spent time with them every day, for so long that the earthy, herbal smell stuck to her. Maybe it was introverted behaviour to read a book in the sunshine for hours and not need socialisation. But either way, Adelaide didn't care.

She slipped out of her pyjamas and got into her clothes, not forgetting to fold them neatly and rest them back on her bed. She went over to the vanity, its polished wooden surface sparkling, beginning to comb her hair until it was silky smooth but she saw something odd. Above her wiry, sandy brown hair was 3 images.

🦉☀️🥀

She'd never seen them before, why, she's never even seen or heard of them ever. It's nothing. I'm just seeing things.

After she had finished fiddling with her hair, she took a match out of her back pocket, striking tip against the box until an orange spirit danced. Letting it flow into her candle stub, she cautiously crept downstairs.

"Addy!" Her mum exclaimed, taking the candle out of her hands so she could scoop her into a warm hug, "You're up early. Are you sick? Fever? Cold?". Despite living in the countryside for 5 years now, her mum had kept her city accent and posture, her back held straight and her head high.

Letting out an awkward laugh, Adelaide replied, "No, really, it's alright Mama, just excited that's all"

In the background, over the sizzle of pancakes, her had let out a throaty chuckle, "I wish I 'ad yer spirit lassie. One day, you'll be flippin' pancakes for your wee child as if nuffin' don't matter no more". Through her dad's tough upbringing and beefy structure, he was a softie. Like Adelaide, he loved nature. Everything from bird song to mildly annoying garden pests such as slugs.

"Well, I'm going outside to choose my flower. Can you call me when breakfast is ready?" Adelaide said, adjusting the braids she had given herself. As her hand rested on the bronze key, she turned back to her parents. Her bulky dad was still flipping pancakes as her mother layed out cutlery.

"Mama, Papa" She began, her hand twisting the key, "Have you- Have you ever had 3 strange symbols above your head?"

Her mother dropped the knifes and forks, all of them clattering on the tiles.

"It's just an urban legend sweetheart" Her mum said firmly, jaw set.

"But what if-"

"Outside Addy."

Sensing the finality in those two words, Adelaide nodded and took a step outside.

Rolling fields of wheat, cabbage, beetroot, everything. Cool breezes on a sunny day.  Adelaide's farm was a sanctuary. It had everything people couldn't give her. People can't give her hours of entertainment, enjoyment and relaxation, could they?

After taking a moment to acknowledge the gentle breeze, Adelaide's mind was set back on her task: Get a flower. Every year on her birthday, Adelaide would pick a flower and nurture it in her bedroom until it'd someday wilt. Last year's flower didn't last very long, but this year she was determined it would last longer than 3 hours.

But what if it isn't the flower that lasts 3 hours...

The hoot of an owl distracted her from her first step. Perhaps it was injured? After all, owls aren't awake in the day..

But she was proved wrong the instant she looked up at the roof. Yellowed talons clinging to the tiles, smooth feathers that reminded Adelaide of her Papa's coffee and piercing amber eyes with the fury of the whole sun reflected in its pupils. The owl was there, and it sure was awake.

"W-why aren't you asleep?" She marveled, jaw on the ground. The owl replied with a single coo before fluttering away. With frenzied astonishment, Adelaide chased it from the ground, relying on its tan feathers to keep track of it. She narrowly avoided a stray branch as she sped through the orchard, the owl still in sight.

The wheat field! Perhaps it'll stop to catch a mouse there! Adelaide thought as an endless sea of yellow came into view.

She felt as if she'd been running for hours until the owl stopped in a small clearing by a wilting flower. It was pigmented a velvety red, such as the colour of an expensive wine Adelaide had once seen on the table by her mother's bed. The stem was dropping, although it was a healthy colour. Thorns made miniature knives.

Adelaide was drawn to its peculiar nature. It was dying, but yet so alive. This was her flower. She could recover it. Careful not to damage it's delicate form, she uprooted it from the ground.

"Ow!" She hissed as a thorn pricked her finger. Blood similar to the colour of the petals was drawn. Adelaide ignored it; she'd wash it off later.

Little did she know it was her demise.

---------------

Adelaide took a large bite out of her pancakes, her flower beside her. A small cut was in place of the blood from earlier, but Adelaide knew it couldn't be that bad. She had washed it and placed a plaster over it in order not to get lemon on her fingers. Or infections, more importantly. Because, after all, lemon and sugar is and always has been the best topping for pancakes.

"Adelaide, use your knife and fork" Commanded her mother almost jokingly. She may have her city posture, but the manners went away quickly.

Adelaide froze all of a sudden.

"Oh Addy, was it something I said?"

"She's just making a joke 'oney"

The world became a blurr.

Shaking, banging, uncertain words. Adelaide slumped in her chair.
Everything went black.
But the throbbing under the plaster on her finger remained.
Her mouth began to froth, the most foul smell following.
She couldn't feel a firm grip on her shoulders.
She couldn't smell the earthy smell of her house.
She couldn't hear the panicked screams.
She couldn't taste the lemon sugar.
She couldn't see the world again for what it was.
All she knew was the throbbing.

Then it stopped.

------------

"Breaking news just in! The Scarlet Needle flower has taken its sixth victim! Tending to grow near crops, the Scarlet Needle is a rose-like flower, which always appears to be wilting. A lethal venom is coated around the thorns protruding from its stems. Once it's in your system, you're likely to die within the first hour of stinging. Scientists are trying to figure out a cure before it takes more victims, one of which being a young lady called Adelaide Morris..."