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~ i grew a flower that can't be bloomed, in a dream that can't come true ~

| joined August 16, 2018 |

Message from Writer

If you've come this far, thanks for reading. I'm very grateful that you've stumbled upon my profile, and whether that was intentional or an accident, I hope you enjoy reading my writing.


June 7, 2019

PROMPT: Returning

"You like what I've done with the place?"

She noticed the sofas had changed. Brown leather recliners that looked like it would squeak rubbing against any material. Small red cushions sat in the centre decoratively, neatly put in size order. It certainly smelt of leather, too. Leather and perfume. You know, the type of perfume that old ladies used to wear when they were getting ready for their big Bingo night. A overpowering, flowery scent that made Jane grimace tremendously. 

And it was cold. Freezing. Jane knew the radiators would be working, and yet her friend never had the thought to put them on. Jane pulled on the sleeves of her sweater, shivering uncomfortably. 

The picture frames hung in rows, each with images of flower pots, painted with milky water colours. The floor, Jane noticed, was not a carpet anymore, but now tiled, and by the sofas lay a huge, fluffy, hideous rug. 

"Uh, it's different."

Jane knew she had to sell the house and go for a smaller one. She thought selling it to her best friend would be a great idea. But it was different. Too different that it scared her. Everything was too orderly, and posh. Everything was new and in its place. When Jane had the house to herself, it was cosy, unstructured. It wasn't messy, but it wasn't uptight, with everything pushed against the walls. 

Jane felt like she could never relax in her old home again.


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