Wake Up and Smell the Roses
A/N Originally posted here. It probably won't make alot of sense because firstly, I deliriously wrote this late at night with a spike of inspiration and the idea is a little obscure. The person who asked for it wanted it to be based around Virginia Woolf's Orlando which is about eternal youth and...well, it's explained in Wikipedia here. And I also referenced J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan and Jerry Chesnut's/Elvis Costello's song here (I'd give the title away but it might spoil the ending).
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Jessica lived for the moment and because of that she made mistakes along the way.
The first was when he said, “Take my hand,” and she did; following his wild heart and silly, rebellious shadow to a place where she’d only learnt about in dreams.
Everything had been so wonderfully vivid and magical that she was convinced it had all been real even when she woke up the next morning in the comfort of her own bed with her brother and sister sleeping soundly by her side, as if nothing had ever happened.
Despite no one recalling what went on that night, she left her dream taking a piece of the magic back into reality.
It soon became apparent when the grey hairs began sprouting from the heads of her younger siblings and she still didn’t look a day older than seventeen.
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She gave away her heart too flippantly and there was a time where it had momentarily belonged to the infinite blue that was the sky. She grew bored of the lowly plains, after living for a few centuries long she thought she’d seen everything that she had to be seen, done everything that had to be done. So when she learned to fly, it really did seem like the sky was limitless.
On a Tuesday morning in the middle of June she left her home, tempted by prospect of something new, something extravagant and she forgot about the lone heart she left behind.
Grassy plains turned into an endless vastness of clear turquoise waters and she soon forgot about time altogether, not that it mattered in the first place, not to her.
She flew from one end of the globe to the other, from sticky wet jungles along the Amazon right across to the blazing red Saharan deserts.
And when she had enough of exploring the world and finally returned it was only then had she realized that she wasted a lifetime away.
She saw the freshly mounted soil on the grave of the heart she had left long ago and she mourned, vowing to leave a rose with every life she had known that passed before her.
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It became her signature; her parting gift was always a flower, except it was mostly unintended.
She remembered being betrothed to a King of sorts. She was barren and her husband grew angry that she could provide no heir. To be fair, she didn’t care; she was shameless and flaunted her courtships with the King’s noblemen. Before she knew it, she stood before a jeering crowd and remembers the swiftness of the blade to her neck. It was strange, dying but not. The last thing she saw and heard before she woke up in the stillness of the woods was the sound of bugles and the wonderful carnations.
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And then there was that lovely courageous girl with the braids and daisies in her hair who placed a sunflower down the barrel of a soldier’s gun. A peace offering, Jessica distinctly recalled.
Bang.
Jessica’s world faded to black again.
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Now, Jessica looks into the mirror and there’s no line and wrinkle in sight. She worries that with every passing day under the watch of the world, they will look at her and realize the magic from her dream. But Jessica is just a bit selfish and wants the secret all to herself.
As a consolation for her selfish foolishness, she tells herself that it’s Spring and the flowers are in bloom; it’s a sign.
She puts on her overcoat and leaves a soft kiss to the forehead and a signed note for every member of that South Korean girl group she somehow found herself performing in.
And when she’s ready to leave she hears a tired voice asking, “Where are you going?”
She places a hand on the doorknob and utters, “I’m going to buy some flowers.”
“Oh,” Sooyoung says, “What kind?”
Jessica bites her lip and holds back impending tears. She decides to leave the question unanswered before stepping soundlessly into the night.
However, Jessica doesn’t forget the promise she made almost a century ago.
Her conscience tells her to find them one by one, all of them now in their late forties. They smile at her with weary, bewildered eyes; shower her with food, hugs and kisses.
And when they finally let her go, this time it’s different because they’re the ones who are bidding her farewell and not the other way around. So, when she leaves, placing a flower of her choosing on their doorstep, she realises that every year she’s lived for has always been a good year for the roses, regardless of anything else.