Flash Fiction by Rohc

The child mumbled in their sleep, a light brush of wind against their hair encouraging them to groggily open their eyes. Their parents were still asleep next to them, so the child stayed still so as not to wake them up. Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they stared up at the sky. They had fallen asleep outside where it was warm and sunny, and the child giggled quietly as they admired the flowers in their hand. They had picked them earlier in the garden because they looked so perfect.

Their parents were still asleep, so they hummed quietly in thought, speaking out loud. “You know mum, dad, yesterday at school, we learnt about time. And my teacher said that time never stops moving. But weirdly, she also said that clocks tell the time, and they tick forward when time moves. But our clock doesn’t tick anymore, and so she’s wrong. Time does stop moving forward.”

The child twirled the flowers in their hands, smiling at them. “You know how you said not to pick flowers until they’re ready to bloom mum? I didn’t know when they bloomed, and when I asked, you told me to wait. So I’ve waited. I think they’ve bloomed now, but I’m not sure. How long does it take to bloom? A month… Two years… Five years… In summer?” The child scratched their head. “I don’t really remember, sorry mum.”

“I think I’ve waited long enough though, probably.” They made a face, they weren’t good with maths, or remembering things that well.

The child sat up, stretching. “I know you are tired by the way, but you really should wake up now. I’ve been waiting for five years.”

They stood up, placing the flowers on their parents’ graves, and walking out of the cemetery.