Hyacinth blue surrounded me. The flowers were everywhere, so beautiful. Blood was splattered over them, like ruby dewdrops. It was my blood. It didn’t bother me. I couldn’t remember why.
I could hear Henry running through the tall grass toward me.
His voice was so squeaky, had he been crying? He sounded so young, I would never guess he was seventeen.
I heard gunfire again in the distance. Like hearing fireworks at noontime, the sound seemed off, out of place on this peaceful country estate.
Then I remembered, and the pain in my chest returned. It was like a sack of stones crushing me, making it hard to move, hard to breath. The pain had come from one of those guns. Henry had dropped behind, I couldn’t see where he was, and I had turned around to look. Then it hit me, throwing me down into the beautiful blue flowers. Painting them red.
But this wasn’t supposed to happen, the old mansion was supposed to be abandoned. We were just supposed to go in, grab something silver, and leave. It was safe; my Henry promised.
At last, Henry’s sweet face was hovering over me. His cheeks were streaked in bright pink; his beautiful hyacinth blue eyes, watery.
“I’m so sorry Cynthia, it wasn’t suppose to be like this, I swear.”
Dark clouds gather over his head, cutting off the spring sunlight. A single raindrop fell on my cheek then rolled away.
In a breath the heavens opened up and released the shower. Gentle drops trickled over the hyacinth and washed the red away. Henry lifted me up into his arms, but I could still see my flowers.
“They’re clean now,” I told him, “Aren’t they beautiful?”