Chapter Text
Poppy was getting very tired of the voices in her head.
Morning, Poppy, It’s Friday!
FRIDAY? Why can’t it be Saturday already?
Don’t you have that quiz on Monday? You should study for that.
Eh, personally, I wouldn’t. Why study when you could sleep for once?
Ok, all of you, be quiet. Poppy’s getting up!
You know I can hear all of you, right? The girl sat up in her bed, interrupting the constant banter of voices in her brain.
Of course we do! But that doesn’t matter now. What do you want to be today?
“Not sure. Guess we’ll have to see.” Poppy grumbled, stretching out. She glanced over to her window, which was surprisingly shining in bright, warm sunlight. What a rare occurrence in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
Poppy got up out of her bed, running her hands through her thick dark brown hair, which was unbelievably knotted, but was the same everyday. She threw on a white shirt and her infamous green hoodie she always had with her, dyed the color of sages. She also got her favorite jeans with holes in the knees, which were definitely there when she first got them, and grabbed her gray tennis shoes, which were in dire need of new laces.
She started towards the door before stopping, looking back at her windowsill. On it were three tiny pots, each with a tiny sprout of a flowering plant in the middle. Each one had a different bud growing; one a pale blue-gray, one a light green, and one a rich chocolate brown. They were all facing the window, all on the verge of blossoming open.
“Have a good day, guys.” She said to them, knowing they obviously wouldn’t respond. Though there was no answer, she could’ve sworn they grew slightly taller.
She raced down the rickety stairs of her second floor to the bottom, where the dimly lit kitchen was as empty as ever. She grabbed her backpack off a hook on the wall and set it down on the island, pulling her water bottle out. She then watered the assorted plants in their kitchen, each flourishing and almost too big for their pots.
“Good morning, minha florzinha,” Poppy heard a voice behind her. She turned to see her father in the doorway to the hall, his warm smile sending wrinkles across his tired face.
“Morning dad,” Poppy said, checking in the pantry for anything to eat for breakfast. She sighed at the empty shelves, looking back at her dad. “Anything to eat?”
Her dad’s shoulders slumped. “Poppy, you know it’s Friday. I’m getting the weekly check today. I’ll see if I can get something for dinner tonight.”
Poppy shrugged, looking back at her backpack on the counter, which was missing something. “Hey, dad, did you fix the holes in my bag?” She said, grabbing it, tracing the uneven stitching along what used to be finger-sized holes in her backpack.
“I tried my best…” he trailed off, coming up behind her. “One of my coworkers at the office showed me how.”
She turned around and embraced him in a hug, which took him by surprise, but he soon wrapped his arms around her too. “Thank you,” she said, pulling back.
Her dad said nothing, but smiled, concern filling his face. Poppy noticed.
“What’s wrong? Something’s going on.” Poppy exclaimed, sitting down on the barstool next to the island in the kitchen. Her dad sat down on the other one, pinching his nose bridge with his cracked hands.
“Something is going on, minha florzinha, but I can’t seem to figure out what it is.” He exhaled, looking back at her with his hazy brown eyes. “Something… about you…” he shook his head, trying to clear the fog in his eyes. “And your mom…”
Poppy stiffened a bit, taken by surprise. Her dad hadn’t talked about her mom in years. And when he did, he would always get so defensive and quiet, claiming that he didn’t like to talk about it. She always assumed it had something to do with her leaving just weeks after her daughter being born, but she never dared to ask in case things ever went south. The voices in the back of her mind started muttering, quiet and curious.
“What… What about my mom?” she cautiously asked, unconsciously twirling her brunette hair around her fingertips.
Her dad’s eyes fogged up again, his face twisted in confusion. “Poppy Flores Rodriguez Alves…” he whispered, looking back at her. “I need you to stay safe today. Wherever you go, please be safe, minha florzinha. For my sake, and your mother’s.”
She tentatively nodded, glancing over at the clock on the wall. Realizing the bus was about to arrive, she grabbed her backpack and swung it over on her shoulders. She started to walk towards the door to her house before stopping, looking back to her dad.
“Love you, dad,” She called back to her father, who had gotten up from his chair. “Eu também te amo, Poppy.” he said back, waving sadly.
Poppy gently shut the door, walking down the cracked sidewalk to the bus stop just down the road. Her father stared at the door for a moment, a lone tear trickling down her face. “Deuses, por favor, mantenham-na segura,” he muttered, wiping his tears from his face.