Bloom

Day 1: In a world of perfection

Today was a special day.

Today is the day my friends and I had arranged to go pick flowers from the field. We hoped to make daisy chains for each other, play in the sun, get our clothes stained: with both the green of the grass and the brown of the mud, and have an overall happy and enjoyable time.

They were called: Sammy, Jenny, Daniel, and Hugo. Each shortened to Sam, Jen, and Dan respectively; Hugo hadn't a nickname, he was content without one. As one could imagine it would be quite hard to come up with a comfortable sounding nickname for Hugo. Hug was simply out of the question; such an affectionate action was out of character and even insulting to such a manly and unemotional character. We suppose maybe Hu would have been good, but he says it lacks depth, whatever that's supposed to mean. The 5 of us made up the Chaotic Clique, a name Sam made up for our friendship group; not that we were particularly chaotic.

We had forgotten to tell them a reasonable time to meet up which they would all be able to agree on, such an irresponsible thing to do. Did it even matter, however? Should we just show up there now and wait for them to arrive if they aren't already there? We thought we should for the best. I mean, what if they're already waiting for us there? Of course, it seems as though we are being ignorant to the time, it's only what? Twenty past ten? Yes, it is early, but we don't want to end up being late, right?

The beams of the rising sun continue to shine through our half-opened pink and sparkly curtains which mask the window to the outside world. We continue to pace back and forth in our room making up our mind about what time we should leave. Our mother chose them for us; pink and sparkly, just how we like it. They even have unicorns on them, how cute!

Mother seems to know just how much we love the colour pink, it seems half of everything we own and live in is pink: our carpet, our walls, our lampshade, our bed sheets, our dress, our nails, our shoes, you name it! If not pink, then it will be white: our flooring, our bed frame, our socks, the patterns on our dress, the patterns on our bed, the ceiling, our headband, our bracelet, our bows, our wardrobe, and even the pony toy we often play with! There are just so many people living their boring old black and white lives, while here we are, content with our happy, girly, pink and white life!

None of our friends like the colour pink nearly as much as we do; they all seem to have their own that they like. We just don't get it, how can someone even not like pink to the extent to where they feel that they need to even become that colour? I mean Jen seems to love the colour green; I don't like green all that much, it reminds me of vegetables.

Can't we see we're getting side-tracked? I mean it is already quarter to eleven. We've been pacing around our room for twenty-five minutes, getting distracted when we should be thinking about whether we go now or not. But... It's your fault, isn't it? You keep distracting me. How heartless of you to not care about your friends, to either keep them waiting or make them worried that they don't know when they should meet you. You should have just never asked them if they wanted to play with you. That would have been easier for everyone.

I decide to go anyway.

We don't want to keep them waiting, so we make our way through the corridor from our room upstairs, down the stairs, turn to the right, and walk down the corridor to where the front door and boxes of shoes are. We, of course, had to pick out our nice, shiny, pink, girls' shoes, and slip them onto our feet.

The key dangled from a small nail, hammered into the wall, a few feet off the ground; yet we were tall enough to grab it, just barely, by standing on our tiptoes. We plugged the key into the door lock and turned it until we knew it could be opened. So, we open the door, letting a ray of sunshine and a light breeze, enter our home, unpermitted.