Thursday, 21 August 2025

Flower’s Final Night (short story)

 

Flower’s Final Night

(Random 2-word prompt- free, cellar)

 

                Flower scraped his spoon against the grouting between the damp stones, an attempt to wear down the cement and loosen an exit.  Grinding and grating echoed in the cell, metal against grit, and his effort sung an accompaniment in his wheezing breaths.  Rust and dust on his lungs, he coughed, then continued with his never-ending task.

                “It won’t work, you know,” muttered the old man who was chained to the opposite wall.  “Plenty have tried, none have succeeded.”  He smacked his dry lips together.  “Seen ‘em all come and go.”

                Flower ignored him.  The digging was the only thing keeping him warm in this cold dungeon.  And sane.  He needed hope.  He was going to be beheaded tomorrow.

                “You just gotta accept your fate,” continued the man.  His emaciated grimy body had its dignity concealed only by a scraggly grey beard that stretched from his chin to his knees.  Moonlight, from the grate on the ceiling, cast shadowy lines on his already lined and aged face.  “Pray to whatever gods you believe in while you can.”

                Flower paused.  “What if I don’t believe in any?”

                “Well, you’re fucked then, ain’t cha?”

                Flower rolled his eyes, then returned to his task.  He traced a line with the tip of the spoon along the underside of the stone he’d been working on.  He’d barely got anywhere since he’d started several hours ago, and the scraping and scratching was becoming irritating.  He knew he was annoying his cellmate; he was annoying himself.  He had blisters forming on his fingers.  His knuckles were chapped and cracked.  Bleeding.  So were his lips.  The constant dust dried the air, sucked the moisture from his skin despite the dampness in the cell, and it hurt.  But he carried on.

                “Please stop.”  The old prisoner groaned.  “You’re giving me a headache.”

                “I can’t,” said Flower.  “Felix needs me.”

                “Felix?  Felix?! Is that your lover?”

                “No.”  Flower sighed.  “He’s my cat.”

                The old man cackled; it was loud and witchy, gurgly and high pitched.  It echoed against the walls of the small chamber, bounced from stone to stone.  It vibrated in Flower’s ears.  And when the discordance died down, he was disappointed to discover that it hadn’t shaken any of the stones loose and freed them both.  Or even just him.

                “He’s only a kitten,” said Flower, still scraping away at the wall.  “I’ve got a life to go back to.  It’s messy, but it’s mine.”  He stopped and turned around.  The old prisoner was staring at him, wide-eyed and incredulous, wrinkles furrowed in deep trenches on his forehead and rippling along his bald dome.  “Why are you here?  What did you do?”

                “What did you do?”

                “Murdered the King apparently.”  Flower shrugged.  “I didn’t, but the Queen...”

                “Bah, who cares about that rancid old cow!”  The old man cackled his disturbing cackle once more.  “She stole that throne!”  His voice dropped to a whisper.  “There was a good King in charge about fifty years ago, a patient and just King.  And not that dead one you killed; a living King who looked after everyone and put the country first.  But she… she!  She!!  She usurped the throne from him.”

                “Her brother?  He was King first, right?”

                The shackled prisoner shrugged.  As much as it was possible to shrug with his arms chained up.

                Flower studied the man’s features; there was something familiar about his face.  “I heard he was just as bad as her,” he said, keeping his eyes on the man.  “Worse, in fact.”

                “No!  No!  No!”  The old man barked and screamed, face reddening, beard frazzling in anger, his eyes were fiery pinpoints of rage at Flower’s insult.  “No!  That’s not true!  Liar!  No, no, no!”  Spittle whipped from his lips in frothy ropes, dripped down his chin, stuck to his whiskers.  “No!!!  No!”  The man struggled against his chains, rattled his manacles.  “Lies!  All lies!”  He tried to get up, tried to break free, tried to reach for Flower, but the strength of the metal rings holding him and the weakness of the man’s withered frame guarded Flower from harm.  “No, you filthy liar!  Liar!  It’s not true!  No!”  The old prisoner’s strength waned, and his voice waned with it.  “No.  No!  No, no no…”  Shouts become whispers.  Bellows become murmurs.  “No.  Liar… liar…”  And the man’s head dropped to his chest.  His body hung limp.

                Flower tried not to make his sigh of relief too obvious or too loud but sighed he did.  He’d worried for a moment that his cellmate was going to break free of his chains and strangle him dead, which may or may not be a better way to go than his beheading tomorrow.  But at least he now knew why the old man was here, and who he really was.

                He leant back against the wall and looked up through the grating.  The sky was clear, and stars, tucked within the dark firmament, winked at him conspiratorially.  The moon sat in the centre, full and luminous.  Flower studied its features, the craters and cracks across its surface, and wished he was there instead of here; there was no way he was going to escape by digging at the stones.  It was futile.  The moon was beautiful and free, roaming the heavens amongst its kin; Flower watched as a shooting star scratched across its pocked face… which was odd.

                A black shadow appeared at the edge of the opening above.  A black and white shape.

                “Felix!”

                “Not him again,” mumbled the old man.  “You talk about your boring old cat too much.”

                “No,” said Flower.  He reached out his hand and twiddled his fingers at the cat.  “Look, he’s come to see me.  Aww!  What a good boy!”

                His cellmate grumbled something under his breath, but Flower ignored it.

                Felix meowed; it was a sad meow, as if the kitten was unhappy with being abandoned.

                “I’m sorry, lovely,” crooned Flower; he wiped his eye with the back of his dusty hand.  “Daddy’s not coming home to take care of you.”  His voice cracked against his will.  “Felix…”

                “Argh, shut up.”  The other prisoner’s chains rattled.  “Bloody cry-baby.”

                “Shut up yourself, you insipid bitter turd!”

                Felix meowed; it almost sounded like the cat was laughing in response to Flower’s retort.

                Suddenly the sky lit up.  A dazzling white light consumed everything, evaporated every shadow, obliterated the gloom.  Flower covered his eyes.  Buzzing filled his ears, and the luminance penetrated every fibre of his being.  He could see it through his hands, through his eyelids.  It burned into his brain.  He could hear the old man screaming through the hum.

                And everything went dark.  The light disappeared as quickly as it came, but the old man’s horrified screams continued.

                “Quiet!”  Flower blinked through the afterimages flashing in his sight, and as his vision cleared, he realised it wasn’t just the light that had disappeared.

                So had the ceiling; the naked night sky glared down at them.   The wall had disappeared too, the same wall he’d been digging into, blistering his fingers against, for hours.  It was gone.  Vanished.

                Freedom.

                The old man must’ve realised the same thing because his cries turned to laughter, then giggles, and silence.  He was still chained to the opposite wall.

                Flower felt something press up against his leg.  “Felix.”  He picked up the purring fluffball and held him to his chest.  “Felix, my baby.”  He kissed the top of his head.  “You’re safe.”  The kitten’s vibrations were soothing, comforting.  Warm.  “Daddy’s here, Felix, Daddy’s here.”

                He looked to the missing structure.  It hadn’t collapsed; there was no debris on the floor, no loose stones, or dust.  The edges were straight cuts, as if a hole had been created with no thought to the material.  Flower hadn’t seen anything like it.

                A figure stepped into the cell.

                “What…?”  Flower’s mouth dropped open.

                A tall green man, or at least he assumed it was a man, dressed in a silver jumpsuit had joined them in the open dungeon.  The visitor had a bulbous and veiny bald head, bulging big eyes, no nose, and a slit where its mouth should be.  It studied the people in the room, looked up and down at the old man, who was glaring back, and then turned to Flower and spoke in a flat, monotone voice, “Zerq comes from the stars to offer you friendship.”

                “The stars?” said Flower.  “And who’s Zerq?”

                The creature tapped its chest with its three-fingered hand.  “Zerq and his people have watched your planet for eons from our home, Xerton, using our quantum telescopy.  We would like to offer you a chance to come with us.  A new life amongst the stars, where you can learn about us, and we can learn more about you.”

                The old prisoner guffawed.  “Ha!  You’ve got to be kidding me!  A new life in the stars?!  What a fucking joke!”  His chains rattled and shook as continued to laugh.  “And space aliens?  Right this moment as this fella here,” he nodded to Flower, “is about to be beheaded in the morning with no chance of escape?  It doesn’t make any sense.  Ha ha.  Convenient!  I wouldn’t come with you if you promised me all the riches in the world!  Or the universe for that matter!  Ha!”

                “Zerq was not talking to you,” said the creature.

                “Oh.”

                Flower raised an eyebrow.  “You want to save me?  Take me away from here?”

                “No,” said Zerq.  He pointed, with a long spindly finger, to Felix, who was watching the new arrival with curiosity.  “Zerq was talking to the superior lifeform.”

                Felix meowed in response.

                “Yes?”  The alien’s eyes narrowed as he spoke directly to the kitten.  “Are you sure?”

                Felix nuzzled up into Flower’s neck, then mewed.

                “Zerq understands.”  The green man nodded.  “The offer is available to all present.  Zerq would like to know if you want to accept a new life in the stars.”

                Flower could feel Felix’s intense purrs vibrating against his body and realised that he didn’t have a choice.  If he stayed here, he’d be dead in the morning, and his kitten would be alone.  His only choice was life or death.

                “O… okay,” he stuttered.  He chose life.  “I’ll come with you.”

                 “And your friend?” said Zerq.

                “Bah!”  The old man shook his head.  “No chance!”

                Flower looked to his temporary cellmate.  “Are you sure?  You’ve been chained up in this dungeon all this time and you want to stay?”

                “Yes.”

                “Really?”

                “Yes, really.”  The man’s eyes held defiance.  “I ain’t moving.”

                “Then it is decided,” said Zerq.  His lipless mouth strained into the smallest smile Flower had ever seen.  “Welcome to the stars.”

                Everything went white, a brilliance flooded what remained of the cell.  The world evaporated.  There was a moment of weightlessness, and then Flower felt ground beneath his feet, and he was somewhere else.  He held Felix close, and as the light cleared, the endless sea of the universe, filled with new possibilities and new experiences, a star for each, opened up before his eyes.

He’d chosen life.

The End?  The Beginning.


Read the first Flower story

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