November 28, 2005


She sits and picks the little withered flowers- old yet faintly fragrant. Slowly she puts them into the plastic bag along with all those broken trinkets and the rare old gems- almost fading away.

Hesitantly she ties the bag up tightly, as if even a little gap would ruin her precious few. She puts this into another plastic bag and another, and so on till almost twenty bags are used up.

With a frightening shudder, a sigh and a lone passionate tear, she throws it into an unused cupboard to lay forgotten!

A part of her now is wrapped forever in obscurity- dormant, though not killed forever…

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© Dryad's Peak
Maira Gall