The Flower in the Prison

Ernest cusped the flower in his hand. It was all that he had left of his love and soon it would be gone like everything else, including him. He looked around the room at it all. Everything was invigorated with the memories of the life they’d had together. He didn’t like being alone. They’d both wanted to go first. They’d both dreaded the feeling that now was engulfing him. Soon it’d be over.

Ernest coughed. He walked into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. There were so many pill bottles. Not all of them were his. He took a bottle out and opened it. He shook a couple out into his hand. It shook. He tried to control it but it didn’t help. He looked in the mirror. He looked bad. Unrecognizable. Where had the time gone? Where had his life gone? He looked at the medicine in his hand. It was a temporary solution to a terminal problem. At one point that made sense.

Ernest turned the bottle out and down the drain. They all vanished.

He had to sit down. He knew it wouldn’t be long, but it would be exhausting.

It’d been the most wonderful dream. He’d seen Michael again. He was healthy. They both had been. The moment Ernest woke up he’d noticed the blood in his mouth and the effort it took to get his breath back.

He noticed the flower on the window sill again. It brought beauty to the prison he lived in, but it reminded him of his impending end. What was a flower but a life cut short for the sake of another living thing’s temporary pleasure. It was doomed ages ago. Like they had been. Like he was.

He hated it. He smashed the vase into the ground. It looked pathetic laying on its side in the water and broken glass. Ernest bent over to clean it up. His coughing kicked in. It wouldn’t stop. He gasped to recover. His throat never cleared. He needed water. Water was on the floor around him. Ironic.

He grasped the flower. In his hand now it was beautiful again. It still had life. It didn’t have to die. It was their love after all. Michael.

The flower fluttered in the wind. It was outside, planted again in the ground. It faced the patio door to its former confinement. It’d been freed of the prison. It could see the lone inhabitant inside. He’d escaped too now. All that was left was his worn shell.