There were so many sounds and sights to see in the park. Like the water rushing out of the fountain in a pretty display, or the green leafy trees that seemed to sway with my skipping. I was a part of this picture puzzle. With my hand holding tightly to my little brother’s, I jumped and ran, skipped and slid, smelling all of the wonderful scents.

My brother paused to look at some plants. I stopped too, staring at the colorful flowers. A tug, and he pointed to a deep violet one. I knew what he wanted.

When we came back home, I carried the flower upstairs to my room, carefully planting it in a pot filled with soil. The petals were small, but I knew it would grow in a beautiful array of purple.

The pot stayed on my windowsill. Each day, I brought a spoonful of water, tending to its every need. The flower was greedy for the sunlight especially, but for its hunger, the petals grew longer and longer. The coloring of its tips became brighter for every ray of light the sun shone. I was the servant of this little plant.

By the time school started, I had become attached to the flower. So much that I could see every lilac petal as I stood in front of the school’s doors, unseeing to the gray handles.

Slowly, I forced myself into the school, finding my classroom as other students waltzed passed me. Each step I took felt like a betrayal to my brother’s flower. My feet, stiff as bricks, inched further down the hallway.

I made it.

The teacher had already started. She pointed to an empty seat, smiling warmly at me. She told me not to be scared. I wasn’t scared of her, or even myself. I was afraid for the little flower.

Pressure settled deep in my chest. The poundings of my heart thudded, and I was sure that even here, in this traitor classroom, the flower could hear me ever so distantly.

A second later, I heard the bell ring. I gave a sigh of relief, almost laughing. I had survived today. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I ran out of the room. I rushed to find my brother, and together we raced home.

At home, I touched its limp petals, feeding it water. I did everything I could to make up for my absence, my long day at school. The flower eagerly pulled itself towards the sunlight. All night, I slept comfortably next to my brother’s flower.

One day at school, one of the girl’s came up to me shyly. Petite in size but with a smile so bright, she offered me an invitation. I looked at it, briefly. It had an amazing scene on the front. Suddenly, I realized I wanted to go. The entire year I had been left out of all of my classmates’ parties and games.

I nodded a yes.

The party was fun. Classmates whom I had never talked with spoke to me. I danced, and I even sung to the karaoke game the little girl host had set up. There were balloons and cake, candles, and even a funny clown who painted everyone’s faces.

Later, I said good-bye with a smile lit on my face. The rush of the party, the excitement, was still inside me as I opened the door to my house.

My little brother was there. He held my hand and brought me upstairs to my room, leading me forward. I wondered why he was so afraid and cautious. It was then I remembered the little flower.

Sitting in the pot by the windowsill, it hung lifeless. It was a blow to my own self, and I felt as though the world had disappeared behind me as I stared at it. A sudden hollow sound rang in my chest.

Dead.

It had been my brother’s flower, that’s what I had always said. But no, I was, and I had been lying to myself. Somehow, it had become my flower, my little violet gem. And now, after those days of being a pretty purple flower, it had died because of me.
My legs gave way, and I fell to the floor.

I cried.