Flowers for the Dead

Daphne hurried down the dark sidewalk. She hated walking by herself after the late shift. After a long day working at the botanical garden, the last thing she wanted to do was look over her shoulder constantly on her way home. But here she was, brown eyes flitting from left to right. She rounded a corner only to be faced with a drunk and disheveled man sitting on the curb.

"Hey, pretty thing," he slurred. "I've got somethin' real nice for you."

Oh God, oh God.

Daphne hurried past him and pulled her cardigan over her chest. She wished her dress was just a few inches longer. A brisk gust of wind billowed from behind, seeming to spur her forward. After one last glance of her surroundings, she made it into her apartment. She sighed and sagged against the front door. As she relaxed, she realized her fists had been clenched so tightly as to leave nail marks in her palms. Daphne massaged her hands. She felt silly for being so frightened. That man on the curb was probably harmless, she told herself. She hadn't always reacted this way: heart thumping, pulse racing, cold sweats. It had only started after the night of that party. If only she hadn't left her drink unattended. Maybe she deserved—

A gentle growl and soft yap drew her from her thoughts. Daphne's fluffy, black companion trotted into view.

"Well, hello, Jack," cooed Daphne as she pulled the puppy into her lap. Jack, or Jack-in-the-pulpit, was Daphne's only roommate. He was named after one of the newest additions to the botanical garden's exhibit of poisonous. The darkness of the dog's fur reminded Daphne of the deep hue of the plant's hood. Jack seemed like the perfect name. It was much catchier than "American wake robin".

Begrudgingly, Daphne got up from the sofa and padded into the kitchen to make dinner. After nearly an hour of prepping and cooking, she finally sat down to eat. Jack snuggled into Daphne's warmth as the two sat in front of the television. Slowly, she drifted to sleep as the narrator on the television screen described the wonders of Amazonian flora. While Daphne lay still, her mind was as hectic as ever.

Why is it so cold?

Daphne fumbled through the darkness over uneven ground. The air was filled with a damp haze. Her hands groped forward as she tried to find her way. She gasped as she stepped into a puddle or...something. She looked down to see that she was barefoot. Her legs, her whole body was draped in a chiton. Her hair, which usually fell over her shoulders in tight curls, was knotted around a crown of brambles.

Am I dead?

Daphne called out quietly hoping yet dreading that someone might hear her. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized that the puddle she had stepped into was a wide river. Over the slow-moving waters, the grey haze was thicker, lower. A sudden chill in the air caused her to rub her arms briskly for warmth. Her stomach dropped as the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end.

A voice, quiet as a whisper, said into her ear, "If you eat of the fruit, you will surely die".

Daphne awoke with such a start that Jack rolled off her lap and into the floor. Daphne looked around her apartment for any trace of fog or strange voices. She placed her hand over her heart and realized that it was racing even faster than it had during her fright on the walk home. She wondered if her nightmare was caused by something she'd seen on TV. But the narrator was merely explaining the medicinal properties of tawari tree bark. She wondered if maybe indigestion was the culprit.

I really need to get a grip.

She turned off the television and headed to the kitchen to wash the dishes. As the sink filled with hot water. She thought back to her nightmare. The elements of the scene seemed familiar, as if she had read a similar story somewhere before. She reached up to touch her hair, it still cascaded down her shoulders. Looking down at her feet, she saw that they were still in socks. Upon not coming to any conclusion, Daphne went to the bathroom for a shower. She was sure this would calm her nerves enough for a decent night's rest. After all, she had work again in the morning.

Pulling her hair into a loose topknot, Daphne stepped into the steady stream of the shower. She relished to wash off the dust, pollen, and stress of the day. As she worked lavender-scented suds into her skin, she looked down to admire her form. Even with all the walking to, at, and from work, she had still managed to put on a few pounds here and there. This didn't bother her. On the contrary, she loved the new subtle curves of her breasts and hips. She wanted nothing more than to let the warmth of the spring sunlight caress every part of her. She thought of the loose and thin dresses of summer and how the breeze would feel as it moved the fabric. Her mind quickly took sharp turn to her encounter on the street that night. Rather than a thin undress, she wished she had been wearing something shapeless and unbecoming. But, of course, she just had to wear that—

A frigid chill in the bathroom startled Daphne out of her reflection. Puzzled, she examined the room's privacy window. It was closed and locked as always. Glancing up at the vent, she realized that that was open. Perhaps, that was the source of the cool air. Daphne soon shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. After rubbing on more lavender-scented adornments, Daphne dressed for bed. She met her pillows with a contented sigh. She rolled over to see Jack in his usual place: curled up on a pillow next to her.