Florist Impressions

In her shop Claire admired her creation. Lavender, violet carnations, calla lilies, aubergine roses. Not bad for an English major, she thought.

She picked up the vase to place in the cooler. Flash. She stood, vase and all, outside her shop. A man with two violins walked by, angrily strumming one with the other. In his path, a couple sat at the cafe. The man cut his steak, blood dripping off the plate and onto the ground. The woman held a pot of violets.

Flash. On the train. Still holding flowers. A flamingo sat next to her and smiled. Chattering toy teeth came up, bit off a feather, and ran away. The bird shrieked.

Crash. Claire looked down at the shattered vase of flowers. She grabbed a broom, in shock. She looked up and saw the angry man, no violins, but holding a large knife. She ran out and saw the couple from her vision sitting at the cafe. The angry man stabbed the other man, yelling, "She belongs to me!" Too late to save him, Claire ran and hoped she could save the woman. The woman screamed, grabbed the knife from the table and swung wildly. She cut the angry man's throat, blood from both men pouring onto the ground. Quietly, she said, "I belong to me."

On the train home, a flamenco dancer, wearing a pink dress and holding a leather jacket and roses sat next to her and smiled. A man ran up, yanked the jacket from the dancer's arms, scattering the roses, and ran out. The dancer shrieked, "Thief!"

Thief, teeth. Flamenco, flamingo. Violets, violins, violence. Were the visions showing her the future? Could she change it? She picked up the roses, automatically arranging.

Flash. Claire heard herself say, "I am the Malaprophet."