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Flowers: A Short Story.

While I was looking through my notes on my phone I found something I wrote back in February of this year. According to the note color, it is blog related. Look at me writing a quick short story to share with all of you and forgetting about it. No matter, I've got it now. I've read it, and I'm sharing it! It's too interesting to keep to myself.

Enjoy! 😉

"Please don't send me flowers," she'd said. But I knew her. How she liked to play cat and mouse.
I knew her favorite food, her favorite music, and the way she unknowingly swayed her hips to every song she loved at 3 a.m.
I knew she wanted to deny me the satisfaction of openly returning my feelings. Of, speaking those three little words on air. This was the type of woman she was.
So, I gave her the room for denial. All the while, I secretly showered her with the affections she so desperately wanted to savor behind closed doors.
I wrote her poetry and taped them to the windows, with a spray of my cologne and a marked kiss. Left her favorite chocolates at the door. And the day I saw her fawning over a bundle of multi-colored roses, wearing that silky peach dress she knew I loved, I had to buy them for her. She'd worn it just for me--knew I would be watching.
It didn't take long to get to her apartment. I slipped in when the mailman left and excitedly made my way up the stairs. Amidst my quick strokes of pen against the blank card, preparation for her surprise roses at the doorstep, I heard the latch unlock and her soft gasp of surprise.
"It was you, wasn't it? With the letter and the chocolate."
So delicate, so surprised. Her face pale, almost as if she would faint at any moment. I hadn't quite planned to reveal myself just yet. I'd wanted something much more grand before my final reveal. Funny how life works. It doesn't always go as planned. Perhaps, roses were grand enough for today.
"It was, yes. You look beautiful, Ana. Radiant." I smiled and offered her the bundle. Watched as she looked them over and realized exactly where I'd gotten them. Her eyes met mine, wide. Her face flushed. At least this was exactly as I envisioned.
"T-those are the flowers I was looking at before?"
"The exact ones. See?" I gently pressed a finger to the one I saw her touch on display. "This one here. One of the petals is hardly holding on. Clearly it wanted to go home with you. Who wouldn't?"
"P-please. Please don't send me flowers." She stuttered, quickly shoving the roses against me. "No more notes, no more poetry, chocolates, flowers."
I understood her rejection. She was overwhelmed. I turned and strode down the hallway, down the steps and out to the street. I'd embarrassed her too much. She hadn't been ready to see me yet.
I tossed the flowers into a broken street bin. They were ruined now anyway. She'd broken them. I wasted the money. But I knew she hadn't meant it. It was my fault after all. I couldn't take it to heart.
Should I give her space? How long would be too long? If I didn't send her gifts for a week how much would she miss me? A month? To what degree would it torture her?
When it clicked, I realized I'd never walked the three miles home. Instead, I'd gone about in an unnecessarily large circle. Absent-mindedly strolled the distance from her place to the broken bin, around a few blocks and back again. The bundle of flowers did not look or smell any different than the moment they were pressed back in my direction.
"Please don't send me flowers," she'd said. But I knew her. How she liked to play cat and mouse.
I knew her favorite food, her favorite music, and the way she unknowingly swayed her hips to every song she loved at 3 a.m.
I knew she wanted to deny me the satisfaction of openly returning my feelings. Of, speaking those three little words on air. This was the type of woman she was.
I understood clearly then, the importance of the missing time and the roses. If I never managed to throw them away after all, it was a sign. A month, a week, a day. All would have been too long.
I raced back towards her apartment building. The outer door was locked. It was late. I checked my watch. Almost 2 a.m. I circled it and made my way up the fire escape. I'd nearly left her there. Almost left her waiting for my return...
I eyed her from the window. Normally, she would've been slumped across the bed, flipping through her CD collection to pick a song for her nightly dance. Tonight, she'd broken her ritual. I leaned in to get a closer look.
She'd had a shower. I could almost smell her peppermint shampoo from the distance. She peered between the curtains towards the front of the building. Wrapped her robe around her tight and sighed. Ah. She'd been looking for me.
I tried not to smile. She went towards the bathroom to turn off the light and I slipped quietly inside. Surely, I must be the one to tell her to lock her windows. What if some creeping Tom watched her from the escape? What if a stranger found his way in? I sighed. What would she do without me?
I waited for her to step back into her bedroom. She looked up at the last moment, nearly bumping into me. Her eyes met mine and she opened her mouth to speak but I gently pressed a finger to her lips.
"Shhh." I held her hand. It was still damp and warm from the shower. "You don't have to say a thing. I'm sorry for not understanding sooner. Men, you see, we tend to be a little...slow to catch on sometimes."
Thunder rumbled away outside, followed by droplets of rain. I looked toward the fire escape. I hadn't noticed the storm brewing. How fitting. Ana was radiant, after all. Just the thought of her was like a sun that never set. She was worth more than poems. More than chocolates and roses. Of course I hadn't noticed the storm.
When the rain began to pour, I turned my attention back ahead of me, but Ana was gone. Moments later I realized so, too, the storm. Sunlight slowly filled the room. And as the light chased away the shadows, I saw. There, on her bed to my right, lay Ana.
Dozens of rose bundles lay astray. Their petals dry and broken. A fresh set folded between her arms. The oxygen left the room. I felt dizzy and sick. Emptied the contents of my stomach in the bathroom and flushed it away.
Fear and confusion began to shred the thoughts in my mind away. I stumbled down the fire escape and rushed down the street. I passed the broken bin and ignored the sound of chatter in the background. Eventually, I found myself home. Only to leave out again, convinced that I'd been dreaming. Tucked away in the confines of a nightmare. I needed only to jolt myself awake. Or at least dispel other possibilities. Surely, I could simply return to Ana's place, and all would be well. And so, I went.
Realizing I couldn't show up empty-handed, I dropped by the coffee shop a mile away and picked up her favorite breakfast: a caramel latte with extra cream, sausage, egg, and cheese on rye, and a gooey butter cookie for later. As I crossed the street, a man in an apron offered me a cheery smile.
"Your gal's forgiven you then, I take it?" The man nodded.
"Excuse me?" I asked, trying to understand what he was getting at. He looked vaguely familiar. Had we met?
"Oh." The man laughed again. "Pardon me. It's just that you've come by for the roses so often. I kinda figured your girlfriend must be pretty upset with you. I was rooting for you, really. Not that it's any of my business."
"I'm sorry. What?" Is this the same man who sold the flowers? I couldn't exactly remember. What did he mean I'd come by so often? "How many times have I been here?"
"You always look a bit distraught. I suppose it’s no surprise you've lost count." The man scratched his beard. "I'd say about three times a day, for four—five—days now? I think...? You're not just a regular. You're my number one customer this month so far." He laughed. "Although it feels a bit...ya know? Considering your misfortune."
I don't remember what else the man said before I bolted. Just the pounding in my ears and the sound of my quickened breaths. The latte spilled nearly to empty by the time I made it to the top of the fire escape. The sandwich was probably deconstructed, the cookie crumbled.
I entered the room. Ana lay motionless. New roses beneath her arms. I dropped the bag and the latte, and a crinkled sound caught my attention. There on the floor, multicolored rose petals drowned in a puddle of coffee and sugar. When had I gotten those flowers? Had the man given them to me or had I bought them?
My hands shook as I stood there. I could feel the vomit sliding up the back of my throat. Suddenly, the room fell dark, and the sound of thunder filled my ears. I could see the bright flash of lightning skip across the room. I was wrong. The nightmare was just beginning

Soooo, you like? Haha. Oddly enough, I don't write these kinds of stories often. Even though things with the creep factor, especially anything like a good horror story with suspense, pique my interest. There's a very legitimate and serious reason for that. Maybe I'll tell you all one day in the future, but for now, I'm keeping it all to myself.

Anyway, I might trickle some of these elements into a story, but I can't bring myself to legitimately write this kind of series. It's also rare for me to leave a story, even one this short, with so much room left for questions. This one's very open-ended. It works in its own way, but I surprised myself a bit. Haha.

I wonder what else I might come up with...? Hmm. Well, until next time lovelies!

Tchau! ♡☆


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~Tiffany H.~
~Tiffany H.~
Jul 01, 2023

"Please don't send me flowers," The title clues us in on the fact flowers are central to this story. The very first sentence gives the first sign that perhaps all isn't as innocent as the title infers. If that wasn't enough, the next few sentences made me instinctively pause. 'But I knew her.' 'How she liked to play cat and mouse. ' From that moment on, it became more apparent that the scrutinizing gaze and blind adoration had surpassed the limits of what was normal for those in love. The story hits its peak when the FL goes out to relax, only to realize that she had been followed back home. The interactions that follow show how lost in delusions the ML is. The F…

Alexia D. Miller
Alexia D. Miller
Aug 14, 2023
Replying to



Mr. Bread Warrior
Mr. Bread Warrior
May 25, 2023

The short story "Flowers" by Alexia D. Miller is a captivating piece that delves into themes of love, longing, and the unpredictability of human emotions. The author's skillful storytelling weaves an intricate narrative that keeps the reader engaged from beginning to end.

One of the notable strengths of the story is its ability to create a sense of mystery and suspense. From the very first line, "Please don't send me flowers," the reader is immediately intrigued and curious about the dynamic between the characters. As the story progresses, the tension builds, and the unexpected turns in the plot keep the reader guessing.

The author's attention to detail and vivid descriptions bring the characters and settings to life. Through the narrator's…

Alexia D. Miller
Alexia D. Miller
Aug 14, 2023
Replying to

That's very kind. Thank you for the compliment! 🤗

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