The Cerulean Petal

The sunrise blushes the sky honey-yellow, casting long shadows across the identical houses of Fifth street. A young woman in an emerald-green swing dress and short, oak-brown gloves walks through the gate of house number 22. With her white heels clicking on the stone pathway to the door, she straightens her hat and observes the neighbouring houses. To the left and the right, all through the street, the houses had matching roofs, windows, and garden hedges. After knocking thrice, a small boy appears from behind the door.

“Good morning, Miss. Sorry abo— I mean, apologies for the delay,” he greets. He is no more than eight years old, wearing brown pants and suspenders over a linen-white shirt.

“Not to worry, young man. A little waiting never hurt no one. I was wondering if you could tell me about this.” She holds out a glistening petal, the boy cringing as it pulsates a brilliant cerulean blue.

“I-I’m sor— I mean, my apologies Miss, b-but you must be mistaken. That doesn’t belong to me, and mother says I shouldn’t talk to strangers,” he trembles, clutching onto the handle and hiding behind the door.

“Well then, I do believe an introduction is in order. My name is Miss Margaret Magenta. And who might you be?”

“R-Robert, Miss. Robert Miller,” he replies hesitantly.

Extending her gloved hand towards him, he reaches out and shakes it before hiding behind the door.

“You see,” she says, “now we’re not strangers.”

“P-Please Miss, I don’t want to get in trouble.” Robert begins to close the door.

“No, no, wait,” Miss Magenta protests, seizing his attention. “What’s her name?” He pauses, realising that she knows.

“Annie. Her name is Annie,” he replies, hanging his head and re-opening the door.

“She’s very beautiful. Did you grow her yourself?” Miss Magenta asks, turning to see the flower blooming beneath a hollowed-out section of garden hedge.

“Y-Yes. But please don’t tell anyone, Miss. I don’t want to be taken away,” he pleads, slowly turning pale with fear.

“Why would anyone take you away?”

“The men in suits don’t like things to be… not the same. My friend Thomas used to live next door. One day he accidentally left his bicycle in the front yard. The men in suits took him away the next day,” Robert explains. “They don’t like things to be…”

“Different?” she finishes. He quivers at the word.

“Mother says I’m not allowed to use the D-word, let alone think it.”

“Well, Robert,” Miss Magenta says, kneeling down to his level, “I like that you’re different. It’s what makes you special.” He can’t help but let a shy smile bloom on his cheeks. Robert has never been told that he is special before. “How about we make a deal? If you let me keep this petal, I promise to protect you from the men in suits. All you need to do,” she explains, handing him a small card from her ivory handbag, “is close your eyes, squeeze this card tightly, and I’ll come to protect you, wherever you are.”

Robert examines the rectangle in his hands. It was a brilliant shade of pinkish-purple, with two golden letter Ms interlocking on one side. Running his thumb over the emblem, he turned his face back to Miss Magenta.

“That’s my signature,” she says. “That’s how I show people that I’m special, just like you.”

“Maybe Annie could be my signat—” A bike bell catches his attention. Looking up, he sees the same empty street he’s known his whole life, full of identical houses left and right. A fleck of familiar blue catches his eye, a single cerulean blue petal riding in the wind.