Flowers. Roses particularly are the most special: beautiful and magnificent, especially in its soaking blood redness, and though she may be feisty, daring and dangerous, with every intents to kill, she still is undeniably beautiful.
But with all her thorns, beauty and charm, a rose will always be gray and dull next to a grave, 'specially the graves of the ones you love and cared for.

I was obviously an exception to the rest. Everyone there had tossed bouquets, strands and petals over the coffins as they were lowered, but all I did was watch: to stare down at the three wooden rectangular boxes, as they traveled a distance of six feet or more.
My eyes caught upon a flossing petal, reluctantly pulling itself down, I couldn't help but be drowned in my very own ocean of sadness as it fell, it was like watching a replay of my life this past two months. But unlike the saddened guests, mine was coated in the tight grips of fear and anxiety. What happens next? I kept asking myself.

"Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes....."
The priest went on with the regular prayer, and all I wanted was to disappear, become invisible, or just go poof into thin air; which ever soothes better. I still wonder how people stay through this sorts of things, and still throw banquets at the end. How?

Most noticed my indifference, and for certain they were cursing me in their hearts, but I didn't flinch in remorse. They just couldn't understand that flowers at these moments, was pointless. They'd only whither away over time, but this hallow filled with grieve, will only continue to eat away happiness.
So, why decorate the dead?

I was overwhelmingly engrossed with emotions and wishes, as I stared at the three coffins. One of my deepest wishes was to be granted the chance, to magically appear in a fairy tale as a prince charming, then I'd walk over to my princess, and give her a true love kiss that will wake her from her deep slumber. But alas, fate was just too cruel. These beauties weren't sleeping. Death had stolen them from me forever, and no amount of kiss will bring any of them back.
Seriously, why would anyone wanna decorate the dead? Isn't death an ornament enough? Why grace and make beautiful the sad and gray that befalls the eyes? Why make glorious the work of death?

I hate flowers. They only remind me that no matter how beautiful things may seem, it will one day wither away. Lasting happiness, is never achieved, no matter how hard it is sorted for.

Unfortunately there was one, a cheering bunch, standing beside my bed, constantly giving colour to the whiteness of my little confinement room, and for some reason I didn't hate it. I never personally requested for it, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it away either. I might have actually admired its tenacity to fight off the overwhelming sadness emanating from me. I'm not so sure of that either. Or maybe I needed a little light in this darkness I've been sucked into.....maybe! I may never find out why I allowed the cheering presence of that flower.

I also loved the fact that it was the first thing my eyes caught the second I jerked awake from the nightmare. Its not totally weird to be visited by the bogeyman once in a while though, but on my account, this was a bit excessive. The bastard had been haunting my sleep for weeks. I mean what gives? And this mares were super strange too, and I've never felt more weak and helpless in them. Fortunately the sadistic gentleman has been blessing me with the same dream over and over, but with a new infill of fright.
And like always, it has always been of me in a small room, surrounded by many and only doors. There are no walls, no ceiling, no windows, only brown finely polished wooden doors, symmetrically joined together: edge by edge, corner by corner, with each having tiny keyholes the size of a needle. The fun part is that these doors are locked, and I'm like seriously?! For more entertainment, every inch of this room is slowly shrinking; the floor grows higher, the ceiling draws lower, and the walls becomes fatter. Literally fatter.

I yell for help, but nobody seems to hear me. I scream at my loudest but I hear nothing, not even my voice, only the gentle creaking sound of my bones as the walls collapses, crushing me slowly in its grip.

"This is not real. This trapped feeling is only in my head."
That was my response to my insanity, which then throws me back to reality.

Reality was worse, and I longed to return to the cold crushing arms of my mares, but the sedatives had worn off, so sleeping for the next three hours was off limit. Luckily by the mercy of time, there was still three more days for me to kick this place to the curb, and right now was the that time to set my plans on the road.

"We're coming in!"

They knew the set time I'd be awake, and like the did the past few days, they came bearing gifts, and they weren't a second late.

I might've been underestimated, because unlike the usual horde who march into my domain, just one man came in through the door, and he came bearing his usual presents: a beautiful needle of disinfected steel, and a bottle whose contents can make the whole world pause for a few hours.

But it was still bizarre, but I believe the strangest things happen to favor those like me.

But right now, favor and fate, was not on my mind. Escape was. Time kept slipping away, and how was I gonna pull off my plans, when all I had at hand was just an already straightened paper clip, the cap of a ballpoint pen, and me, an indefinite part to the puzzle, an essential extra.

Seriously how? Insane right?

If I played my game right, I might just be lucky enough. And there it was, laid out before me, and it was all dependent on luck, not favor, not fate... Just plain old foxy luck.

It was he and I playing the mind game of chess, with only four piece on my side. My knights, bishops and castles had been strategically defeated, leaving the less threatening pawns, and the all powerful queen to safeguard the king. Luck had successfully stuffed me on 'check', having predicted all moves with the important figure, but failed to realise how much my victory was reliant on those unnoticeable pawns widely spread over the board.

The question was, which pawn will I have to move? If I step forward, I can never go back. Do I use force, or slip through in shades of cowardice?