Marygold (Short Story)

Chapter 11

The day following it was sunny, but a little damp outside. Chiffon could not get out of bed. In fact, she could not come out of her room, for there was no reason to anymore. Every few minutes she regained her tears. She was upset, confused, and a little bit angry. Thoughts continued to swim in her mind: What did she mean? Why did she do that? Does Marygold hate me? No way, she's Marygold. She is nice, isn't she?

At this point in time, it had been four days since the day she and Marygold crossed paths. Though it felt like an eternity ago, she had to remember that they could still be strangers in Marygold's eyes. She overthought their relationship in hope of making a new friend, and now her heart ached like never before. She put the returned gift back on her nightstand and had even considered not visiting the flower shop for a few weeks to prevent herself from even bothering to see Marygold again.

"Chiffon." Her mother called from downstairs.

"Yes?" Chiffon replied back as she sat up from her bed.

"There's something for you at the door."

Chiffon reluctantly got out the bed and sadly walked to the front door. She opened it, and gasped, for as she could not believe her eyes and what was left there in front of her on the porch.

Lying there was a vase filled halfway with soil, which resided a variety assortment of flowers—most of them were a pure color of white. There was also a note. Chiffon picked it up and unfolded it so fast she could have easily torn it.

-𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚍𝚘.

It was written and signed by Marygold. It was the first thing she had ever said to Chiffon.

Forget about the festival, forget about knowing more about her, forget her questioning obsession with marigolds, and forget about her odd actions. Maybe, just maybe, time was what was needed. Maybe she focused on the things that were most important to her.

Of course, Chiffon was not her, but now she started to assume that Marygold, as soulless as she is, had her own motives in a way. The present blew all of her sorrows away; the smile on her face could not leave! She put the vase in her room, fixed herself up, and put on her shoes to hurry off to the shop again.

Marygold sat behind the store like many times before, but the only difference was that it was daytime. Chiffon arrived and of course she wanted to talk to her, but she felt timid and did not know what to say. Although she could not deny that she was very happy.

She decided to start off by telling her, "I have the vase. I'm keeping it in my room. Thank you."

Marygold was too busy drawing patterns into the dirt.

"Where did you get those flowers from?"

Silence. Chiffon did not mind.

"Marygold, one day I hope we can talk to each other. You have extremely good handwriting. I couldn't even tell it was handwritten until I looked closely."

Chiffon never mentioned how much she cried.

The years of Marygold were filled with silence and doing whatever her mind wanted her to do. Even if it was dangerous and could most likely kill her, she would still attempt it.

It was not by skill; it was just a Marygold thing.

The last time she spoke was nearly eight years ago. Her eyes used to contain the light of the stars, as if you could look directly at them and be mesmerized by how they reflected a distinct galaxy. She was as hyper as a young rabbit and had absolutely no trouble making friends everywhere she went. She would laugh, even when she stumbled into the most seemingly dark situations. Every time she smiled, it was warm and welcoming to everyone around her. People often showered her with praise, even when she had not even done anything worth noting.

She was alluring. But sometimes, it would annoy her. People prayed upon her name and always asked for her advice or if she wanted to play, and the number of people who would lead in her footsteps was abundant. They had friendly intentions, but Marygold declined all of it, which then led her to be slightly afraid. All she wanted was to treat others the way she wanted to be treated, but the reception of that rule was too much to handle. She would imprison herself in her bedroom and cover her ears so she would not have to hear them anymore. It worked, for some time. That is when she started to see nothing good in the world and was exhausted living with what she created herself: a nice, exhilarating, and easy way of living.

She was still so young, but yet she approached her parents and announced, "I'm going to play with the other children. I'll be back in time for supper."

That day she ran as fast as she could and did not stop for a while. She did not want to be seen anymore. She did not want to be spoken to. It was too hard. She was sick of it.

Marygold did not go home that day. She lied and had been missing for a few days.

On the third day, she cried herself to sleep in an old and abandoned barn very far from town after she had spent time hiding in places where people were not around.

In the morning, the sun shined nice and bright, and gave warmth to the barn, but Marygold did not seem so happy as she woke up. Her head was throbbing in pain. A hen had waddled its way inside and was roaming around as Marygold tried to recall the path she could take that would lead her to return. She knew that she had to go home. She had been gone for a long time, though somehow, she did not want to go back.

But, young Marygold thought, if one of my family members ran away and never came back, I would feel sad, wouldn't I?

Therefore, she decided to go home.

Her family was worried sick whilst she had vanished. They could do nothing but embrace her tightly as they cried for what seemed like ages. Marygold, however, did not feel anything at all. She knew her family would want to know from her what had gone wrong the following night.

She decided to keep quiet and silently trudged to her room. The warmth, the galaxy, the welcomeness, it all started to slowly disappear.

Since that day, for a few months, her family and friends were worried about her left and right on why she was not as respondent to anything around her, but by the time the second year went by her friends played without her. Her family still took care of her because they had to, but they hated every second of it because Marygold would not do anything she was told to do; and, in some circumstances, she would retaliate back.

At this point, the only person that was left to care for her was Chiffon, and Marygold had not even been companions with her for that long. If she wanted to be silent and disconnect herself from her used-to-be enjoyable, outgoing, and majestic personality she used to have, then that was her choice. If she was okay with it, then it should be okay with everyone else, too. It was completely okay with Chiffon, so why was everyone else so distant? Maybe it is the majority's choice, or maybe it is the slight chance that Chiffon would be different.

Marygold decided to put her trust in her, only just a little, because as of this cool mid-summer's day, in eight years, exactly 2,961 days, 71,064 hours, 4,263,840 minutes and a massive 255,830,400 seconds, she gazed at her and slightly clenched her fists in fear of how her own voice would sound after all this time. What she said was something Chiffon could never expect.

"I'm moving."

Continued.