She lays there, my other identical self, older than I by twenty minutes. Her eyes are closed, and her breath laboured. She clings tenuously to life – fighting to stay with me. She will lose. I knew that in my heart, long before the monitors told me so.
A warm breeze filters through the open window of her hospital room, carrying the heady scent of rose; her favourite flower. Letting go of her hand, I ease up from the chair by her bed and move to the window, arriving in time to see a rose-petal fall softly to the moist, warm earth.
For a moment, I smile, and the years tumble away and we are children once more …
‘Hurry up Jude. We must get them before they turn brown.’
‘Let me finish this page.’
‘No, you must help me now.’
As usual, I put my book down and follow my sister’s instruction. She will not stop until I do.
‘Go and get a dish: the one with the pink roses. I’ll start collecting.’ She dips her head back to the task, safe in the knowledge I will do as she bids.
As I run into the kitchen, Mum is smiling. She hands me the old ceramic pink rose-patterned bowl, and a jug of water. ‘Best take the water now, or she’ll send you back.’
Crouching down beside my sister, I hand her the bowl.
‘Did Mum see you?
Starting to collect rose petals, I shake my head.
‘Good. It’s a surprise.’
In the warmth of the hospital room, I look back at my sister. Still, no movement. No sign she can smell the scent she so loves. But as sure as I am in my heart of losing her, I know there is time for one more rose-petal collection.
FlashFlood is brought to you by National Flash-Fiction Day UK, happening this year on 27th June 2015.
In the build up to the day we have now launched our Micro-Fiction Competition (stories up to 100 words) and also our annual Anthology (stories up to 500 words). So if you have enjoyed FlashFlood, why not send us your stories?
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