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A bouquet of memories lies discarded on the floor.
Adora doesn't know who they belong to. Nobody has come into the room for a while, a dull buzzing the only thing to keep her company. The walls are a muted orange, clashing violently with the blue bedding. She doesn't see herself as an interior designer, but there is something severely wrong with this place. But maybe that isn't the sheets.
The bouquet of flowers is the only thing of worth here. Adora thought she knew colour before, but never had it been like this. Beauty may only be a figment of the imagination, but nobody could deny the beauty of this bouquet.
Surely, Adora cannot be blamed for tentatively stepping out of the bed, her head pounding and body unusually stiff. She picks it up and sits back down, the flowers in her hands and contemplations in her head. Everything is unfamiliar. Secrets whisper from the wall, singing in her mind. She can't hear anything but suddenly she can and she thinks that is even worse.
She doesn't notice herself plucking a lilac from the bouquet. She raises it to her nose, and the room melts away.
A creaking shed, two children laughing in a corner. The blonde whispers and the brunette smiles fondly, embracing her friend. The blonde buries her face in the other's curls, and they drift off, oblivious to the frantic goings on outside. There is no room for anyone in their world besides each other. This is the first, purest form of love either of them has ever experienced.
Childhood echoes strong in Adora's mind, but memories do not form, a distinct flavour that remains unknown.
After a while, an almost familiar girl comes into her room, a tentative smile on her face. Adora, confused but not wanting to seem impolite, smiles back and something gleams on the girl's face. Is it hope? Is it happiness? Is it pride? Adora doesn't know.
When the girl steps forward, Adora shuffles back, not wanting to be too close to this stranger. The other notices this, and something flashes across her face before she is able to compose herself. She reaches out a hand, and something in Adora urges her to take it, but she doesn't. Why would she?
The stranger rushes from the room, but not before Adora is able to catch a glimpse of her expression. This time it is clear what the girl is feeling: pain.
Confused yet unbothered she moves to the next flower, a simple white daisy.
Shouts echo from the stage, a group of friends huddled together. The same blonde, older now, laughs with a reckless abandon only recognised by those who have never understood pain. The party is loud, an overload to the senses, far too much to handle, yet they find that none of them mind.
Did Adora ever experience that too? Is it too late now? Has she missed her chance? Never mind. Moving on is all she can do now.
She feels the regret even before she picks up the chrysanthemum.
It is dark here, night only a whisper away. Everyone is gone, besides one. The blonde stands by a cool, marble slate, tears trailing down her cheeks. Minutes pass, or maybe hours, but she remains statute still. Eventually she allows herself to be lead away, a numb shell to match the corpse beneath. Loss corrupts the air, but that was only made possible by the love once felt.
It doesn't feel right to see such an event, better to leave the memory forgotten or lost for eternity. Whoever owns these memories will forever be haunted by it, but was anything ever there if not?
A red dahlia catches her eye next, and when Adora grabs it she feels not happy, but at peace.
The gentle whisper of rain, a quiet tenderness hiding within the cool air. On the soaked asphalt stand the same children from the first memory, yet many years older. There is no song, but why should that matter to them when they have years of memories singing? The brunette takes two steps, which leads to three and they are dancing in the rain, chilled to the bone and dripping wet, and they feel as enchanted as one could ever be.
If rain washes away pain, perhaps it could bring back Adora's soul too. She knows she has one, she just doesn't know where to find it.
Raised voices sound from outside her room, and Adora strains to hear it. Does she recognise that voice? But who could it possibly be? Nobody has come for her, and maybe nobody ever will.
Adora notices a poppy and lifts it by the stem, unsure whether she wants to go on.
Voices become shrill, emotions rising rapidly. The blonde yells at her brunette friend, but friends is perhaps not how one would describe them now. The hurt radiates off them both, an undeniable anger coursing through the air. It is more than an argument, a simple disagreement? Yes, it is the tearing apart of two souls, an unspeakable bond being severed. Nothing should drive them to this point, yet here they are.
Tension strikes Adora like a knife, and the regret she feels is unbearable. But that makes no sense, not that much has been making sense lately. Why should she care about the mistakes others have made? Maybe it is because she is too weak, too frail and too feeble, not enough to make it though. Not enough to fix it.
People come in to talk to her, but she doesn't know who they are. She doesn't know what they want. She doesn't know how she got here or how to leave. She doesn't know, she doesn't know.
She needs to escape. She picks up the rose, hoping for some relief from this hellhole.
Fireworks sound in the dead of night, the two girls seated behind an old shed from years ago. The blonde whispers something and the brunette just smiles knowingly, a look of tenderness softening her gaze. When their lips meet, the fireworks intensify, and the feeling is like nothing ever felt before. They stand together and know, deep down, that they can only survive with the other, two hearts that beat as one.
Adora startles when she realises tears are streaming down her face, the emotions inside her indescribable. If this is love, she knows that it is something she will never experience, could never have something as perfect as those two girls.
A pansy is the only one she hasn't seen yet, dejected and alone and perhaps a sign of the future to come.
Sirens blare, a harsh scraping of metal dragging through the brain. The blonde lies on a bed, her head covered in a red substance and her brunette friend screaming something intelligible. The bed jolts and is dragged into a vehicle, but not the vehicle that is currently wrapped around a tree. A gentle sobbing sounds from beside the blonde and she feels a paralysing grip clinging to her hand. There is pain everywhere and the lights flash so brightly that slumber seems to be the only relief, so unconsciousness slips in and it is finally quiet.
Adora leaves the bouquet on the floor. Someone will come back for it, for their memories and their life.
She doesn't recognise that it is hers yet, and perhaps never will.