Most everyone's mad here.

You may have noticed that I'm not all there myself.

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Nia:... :\x
Here, have a short story that I'm actually kinda pleased with. |D;



The scent of freshly dug soil filled my nostrils as Daddy unearthed the roots of a withering lily plant from our backyard. The poor thing had hidden in the shade behind the tree and Daddy hadn’t noticed until earlier in the afternoon. It was beyond nursing back to health, which made him sad.

Daddy was flimsy. Mother said that it was refreshing, like watching a petal on the breeze, softly swaying here and there, his heart was tender and he always smelled like his garden. He wasn’t big and strong like other daddies, but I liked him well enough, because he was mine.

Daddy raised flowers for a living. Chrysanthemums, daisies, snapdragons, sunflowers, sweet peas, he loved them all. Petunias were his favorite, and whenever I went to help him in the back yard, he would cut one special for me and stick it behind my ear. His fingernails were always dirty. Mother would scold Daddy for getting grime all over the knobs and counter tops and then she would send him to the bathroom to wash his hands before dinner. He had a toothbrush that he used to make his nails white again. Scrub scrub scrub, the smell of dirt was replaced by the aroma of vanilla. I liked his earth-covered hands. He seemed happier, then.

As the seasons changed, so did Daddy. The chilly air and the smell of burning hickory logs in the fire place made him wilt. Daddy didn’t like winter. He couldn’t go play in the dirt when it was covered in a hard layer of ice. Mother always worried and then hoped the groundhog didn’t see his shadow again this year, for Daddy’s sake.

Weeks went by, and the color left Daddy’s cheeks. His hands constantly smelled of artificial vanilla, now, and it made me upset. Mother said not to worry. The cold inside him would pass and soon she would be scrubbing the grass stains from his jeans again. Daddy smiled and then slept.

He slept and slept and slept, but I didn’t worry.

Once the ground softened, Mother and I took him to a new garden. If Daddy had been awake, he would have loved it. The grass stretched on for miles and miles and there were flowers and stones everywhere. We dug a fort in the dirt for him to play inside. It was a good fort and I think Mother should have been proud of it, though that didn’t seem to be the case. She remembered how much Daddy loved his own garden and she wished that we had made the fort there instead. I told her Daddy would love this just the same and she cried.

Mother was tired. She worried about him all the time now, and I told her not to.

 I knew that as soon as the first petunia poked her head up from the ground, Daddy would be there, waiting to greet her, his hands already covered in the dirt of the new spring.


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