Wilting Poppies

Hey everyone, I.O.W here. I haven't written on Writing.com in a while - but calm down, that doesn't mean I've completely deserted the site, just means I've been so carried away with distractions that most of my random scribblings haven't made it to word. This is one of those scribbles that started off as an English assignment and developed into a short story (With the help from Lane Diamond of course - If you haven't heard of him you should have, check out his blog, its awesome!   Diamond Perspective - A Blog ) Anyway back to the point. I wrote this, and was inspired by the song Need by Hana Pestle. So yeah, enjoy!

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Wilting Poppies

Beep…Beep…Beep…  The heart monitor emitted a constant, painful reminder to Noah Belmont that his daughter remained unresponsive and unconscious, as lifeless as the wilting poppies at her side - they would need replacing soon.  He determined to keep those poppies alive, convinced, in a fit of irrational desperation, that their survival would somehow ensure his daughter's recovery.



Olivia didn't believe in heaven or hell, nevertheless she drifted somewhere in between - neither dead nor alive.

                    Her world was dark, peaceful, quiet – yet a constant battle.  Nausea crept in when she couldn’t piece together voices and faces.  Vivid images would fabricate and crumple when walls slammed down.  She fixated on memories that flashed through her mind, no pictures, just sounds - familiar mumbles and whispers from the angel.  

                    His voice, stretched and torn, spoke in tones of angst and fear.  What was happening?  He shouldn't be angry.  She wanted to die. 

          Noah Belmont's face reddened as he trembled and fought to control his nausea.  "This isn’t going to happen!"  He set a fresh bunch of Poppies at his daughter's side.  "I won't let it!"

          “Sir, we understand, but you have to know your options.”

                    Noah didn't care about his goddamn options, about the ifs, buts or whys.  He just wanted his daughter back. 

          His face twisted as he balled his fists to the point his fingernail cut into his palms.  Olivia meant nothing to the crabby,  egotistical wretch of a nurse.  Olivia was an inconvenience, a still form taking up precious bed space and wasting valuable hospital equipment. He must fight for his daughter.  That's what fathers did.  Yet the unresponsive being before him was not  his daughter.  All his self-delusions – she was sleeping or simply resting her eyes – could not defeat the truth.  Behind those eyes, only emptiness remained – no brainwaves, no function, no hope.

          Little did he know.



Olivia's sigh erupted in her mind, a volcanic explosion, yet not a whisper escaped her lips. Why was the angel being difficult?  His worried tone hurt her as guilt invaded her thoughts.  Was she  causing his torment?  Was she  causing his voice to shake as it did?  A prisoner in her own mind, she yearned to escape.She needed him to be strong.

                    “Livvey, Livvey, you need to wake up, darling.”  Noah Belmont whimpered behind red, tearful eyes.  His hands searched for hers in the dark room.  The crisp whistle from the air vent calming his nerves while he plead.  He sat silently, trembling at her side.  Help me.  Tell me how I’m supposed to be without you by my side.   He was weak.  While she fought he’d fled, not willing to let her go, not willing to give her what she wanted.  His hand brushed against the crimson poppies by her side.  The stems had started to brown,  the leaves no longer lively, but vulnerable and numb.  He moaned, his feeling’s echoing those of the defeated flowers.

                              Emotions shot through his body.  Desperation - We’re running out of time, she has to be tough, strong.   Denial - She’ll be okay, It’ll all be alright.  Things will be the same again.   Anger - How could she do this to me?  She’s deserting me!  Just like her mother.   Guilt - What am I thinking? This isn’t Livvey’s fault. This is my fault.

                    Noah wasn’t capable of letting her go.  He felt like a fool.  Livvey was always the sensitive of the two.  Yet here he was, Kleenex in hand with snot all over his face - typical,   when his daughter needed him, he was blubbering like a sook.  Manly indeed

                    He would pray that night - pray and bargain with the Lord to save his daughter.



The noises, the screams from the passenger seat, silence.   Noah awoke with a start.  Beads of sweat trickled down his face and burned his eyes - he had dreamed it again.

                    What would Livvey want,   Noah?  His wife’s voice sung through his thoughts.

                    Olivia would want to live.  He needed her here.  Livvey took care of him.  She was the man of the house. 

                    She’s trapped, Noah.  She may as well be chained-up and put on show.

                    Some part of Noah knew she was correct. His wife had always known Livvey best, but…  How can I let her go?



The heart monitor skipped a beat, speeding into a frenzy of erratic thumps that matched the pulse in Noah Belmont’s chest.

                    The ringing in Olivia's ears screamed in rhythm to her soaring heartbeat.

                    She wouldn’t be stuck in the middle anymore.  She would be one or the other - dead or alive.  Either way, she’d be free.



Noah dragged himself across the room.  Every torturous step brought him closer to the abyss.  His jaw hung slack as he stared at the poppies, picked them up and…dropped them in the wastepaper basket.  They were dead.