excerpt from Of a Flower: Chapter 4
in-progress novel written by Kevin Liang
A knock on the door disrupted my leisure. I glanced up, but could not see who it was from where I sat. Setting my open book upside down on the table, I made my way to the front, thinking about how strange it was for someone to visit me on a lazy Sunday evening. Perhaps Jane was feeling lonely and wished for my company. But as I turned the doorknob, I recalled that I had indeed extra company with me at the current moment. I glanced sideways and saw her there, in plain sight where I should’ve seen her, staring at me with that same curious expression from when we first met. It was too late; I had opened the door, and a pillar of light beamed in, blinding me from my surroundings. Bewildered, I tried to push the girl away, but felt nothing but a jolt; a strange, disorientating sensation, as if I was falling. I pressed the backside of my hand against my face, squinting, peeking through the slits between my fingers to make sense of this whiteness.
The light eventually dimmed, revealing the dusty bedroom windowpane. The sun dipped back behind the clouds, muting its radiance and illuminating the fringes of the nimbus. Birds chirped from their perch on the cottage roof above, and a slight breeze battered the window screen. I felt my right shoulder digging into the mattress from the weight of my body, the pressure straining my back. The bedsheets had fallen below my chest, allowing the summer draft to gently ruffle my gown. I lowered my hand and rolled back onto the bed. Just a dream, I supposed.
I closed my eyes and sunk into the mattress, exhaling, blanking out as I listened to the rustle of leaves swaying in the breeze. Sunlight periodically pierced through the clouds and flushed my face with its brilliance, weighing down my eyelids. The weekend afforded myself some time to lay in bed, doing absolutely nothing. I was usually slow to wake up anyway, and almost fell back asleep before I remembered I had a few errands to run today. I rolled to the bedside and sat up, rubbing the fog out of my eyes. A waft of fresh air broke through the window to help me wake my senses.
Still, I sat there and lazily gazed around the room. Sunlight illuminated the two shelves that hung perpendicular to the windowside. There were old dolls, several books, and a small potted plant that got to bask in the sun at this time everyday. Even the dark wardrobe was thoroughly lit up with the sunlight coming in at just the right angle. I fiddled for my father’s pocket watch on the bedside table, convincing myself to finally get up and dress. I felt my forehead. Hopefully I hadn’t caught a fever. It usually wasn’t this difficult to wake up.
Shuffling through the wardrobe, I pondered on what to wear for the day. They were all fairly simple garments, with only color as their differentiating quality. I did not recall which I had worn the previous day. Perhaps I should just wash all of them later today. As I milled around, my naked foot kept bumping into a crumple of bedsheets nearby. Sighing, I took out some of the dresses and scooped up the discarded sheets. It was about time I did the laundry.
I walked out into the mezzanine hallway when I heard a hefty whump. I felt it before I looked down, and saw the book I had been reading last night. I was puzzled why it was there and decided I would pick it up later since my arms were full. However, half way down the stairs, a chilling realization came to mind. I stopped and stood still for several moments, staring at the crumple in my arms. I turned and looked back at the door, then over the railings at the kitchen below. There, on the table, was an unpacked set of teaware. A plate and teacup on each side of the table.
How much of it was not a dream? I thought. I didn’t leave the door to my room open overnight, did I? Where had she gone?