Writing Prompt: Day 13

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Day 13 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write a story where someone gives someone else flowers for an unusual reason.

Shannon: I placed the flowers in front of him on the kitchen table. “Who gave you these,” he questioned.

“No one,” I explained, “Actually, they’re for you.”

He gave me a funny look, like I had lost my mind thinking this gift was something he could appreciate. “Why,” he tried to mask his disapproval.

“They’re called forget-me-nots,” I attempted to lead into the true reason.

“Ah,” he flashed a smile with an uncomfortable amount of force. “I like how blue they are,” he humored me. “My favorite color, is that why you picked them out?”

“No,” I sighed. They were a front for what I really wanted to say, the good news before the bad. “I picked them because I want to break up. I’m sorry. I don’t think this relationship is working for either of us anymore.”

He started staring at the petals, and I watched his mouth curve in a sad smirk. He looked blindsided. The one reaction I didn’t want see. “Mmm,” he hummed, “So you are another girl that hates me now?”

I shook my head, “No,” I argued, “Why would I give you flowers if I hated you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t understand you. Why would you give me flowers at all? This isn’t exactly a situation that can be brightened with flowers,” he placed his head in his hands.

I paused, surprised to see him so upset. I didn’t think he would give me the time to explain. “I didn’t buy them thinking they’d be your band-aid. I hate doing this. I can’t stand that just because I don’t want to date you anymore it means I am supposed to say goodbye forever,” my words caused his face to reappear. “I also don’t want your only memory of me to be how we broke up,” the word was harder to say than I expected. “We had some really good times didn’t we,” I smiled, as my eyes started to water.

He nodded.

I reached out to cover my hand over his and squeeze it tightly. “Than promise that when you think of me in the future you’ll remember the good times,” I begged.

He stared for a bit, but his eyes slowly lightened, “Of course. How could I not,” he gestured to the flowers in an attempt to lighten the mood for both of us.

Erin: Logan is my lab partner. He is the quite mysterious black haired kid in the back corner of the room. Sometimes when I look back at him our eyes lock for a moment and he blinks once holding the contact before going back to looking at the professor. I always feel like he knows something I don’t.

As we go through rewording our report to meet the template requirements we were given he slides my computer out of my reach. “What are you doing,” I question, a little skeptical of what my favorites and search history will reveal about me.

“It’s my turn to type,” he doesn’t even look up, just starts transferring our notes.

“Cool,” I oblige. My experience with male lab partners had been spotty. I know that I shouldn’t categorize the bad partners by their private parts. In my defense, at one point in time one of them told me he knew I would do the work if he didn’t, because I was a girl. That slightly justifies my sexism, right?

“You’re very intelligent,” he says in the middle of typing.

“Pardon,” I’m not sure how to react to his statement.

“I’m checking the grammar,” another thing other lab partners “trust me” to do. “How you write shows how smart you are.” He looks up. His eyes are a mix of gray and blue. The muddling of the blue suits him. He holds my eyes longer than he ever does in class.

“Thank you. The fact that you say that, makes you intelligent in my opinion.” He gifts me a chuckle. “I am absolutely famished. Do you want to meet me at the Pizza Pit?”

“You don’t have to invite me,” he offers as we both packed our bags.

“Every rational student has eaten by now. I can’t eat a whole pizza by myself. You’re coming.” Logan has his lip pierced, so when he smiles the metal flashes the light in my eye.

I order without him, because mysterious boy may have stood me up. The bacon chicken ranch pizza is placed on the table and not even seconds later flowers are placed next to them. I shoot my confused eyes to the culprit muddling up the perfect table of pizza. Logan. “Um, they’re just to thank you.” He seems confused by my confusion and the whole restaurant is flooded by discomfort.

“I have to be your lab partner,” I remind. Reaching to the bottom of the physics hat has resulted in me getting flowers from rose tattoo boy, Logan. Logan, is my lab partner. Logan’s flowers look like Logan’s tattoo. I’ve always been well aware of his presence in our class, but the name I learned from the hat of fate.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to invite me to eat with you. I’ve never been invited to hang out with anyone outside of class,” the blue in his eyes intensifies in the light. His voice is like frosting, I find his statement hard to believe.

“Well oh boy, now that you brought me flowers this is a date,” I shrug.

The blush that overcomes his face gives his harsh appearance an innocence, “this doesn’t have to be…”

“Too late,” I enjoy the red being upped a shade at a time.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel obligated.”

“Hey idiot. I’m smart remember. You brought me flowers for being nice. I want this to be a date,” I take a bite of the pizza. “You’re not vegetarian are you Logan?”

“No,” once his lip ring escapes him pulling it into his mouth it sends off countless happy flashes.

I would give you flowers for reading this, but that seems like…impossible. The story is the only gift we have I guess.

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