The Flowers Died Today

Part One

The garden was beautiful that day - vivid, uplifting colors decorating the path to my parents' workshop. I always loved the intertwined scent of my mother's bouquets and my father's rustic furniture that would hit me even before I opened the doors.

Instead of that comforting perfume, a coppery scent slammed into me, twisting my stomach.

"Mom? Dad?"

I tentatively pushed at the cracked door.

The shop was trashed. My parents laid in a pool of blood, water, and wood stain. Embedded in their skin were glass and wood splinters.

I had never seen death before, not even with our plants.

It was unnerving, a nightmare I couldn't shake myself free from. A mix of devastation and anger, two emotions I've never truly felt till now, streamed down my face.

Suddenly, the varied splinters surrounding my parents' lifeless bodies started to float, aimed at me. In the corner, there was a shadowy presence, reaching a hand out, controlling the shards.

In the past, I limited the use of my powers to keeping the garden alive. The only times I was extremely aggressive with my abilities was when I was a baby and lacked control over my stronger emotions. Even then, it didn't happen often; I was a very easy baby.

But as the fragments blasted toward me like missiles, I tapped into my grief and rage. With an anguished scream, I bought up a massive tree trunk as defense, letting the branches reach out like claws toward the dark assassin.

Some of the shards bit at my skin, but I was numb to the pain and blood dripping down.

Then a groan reached my ears. A peek around the trunk revealed that a branch jabbed itself into the stranger.

I rushed over, gripping at the villain of my story. Noticing the mask, I yanked it off, leaving me with more questions than answers.

"Who are you? And why? Why my parents?!"

The man only whispered a few words before taking a final breath.

"Los cuarenta y seis no están contentos."

Now sitting there, holding a dead man in my arms and my parents' cloudy eyes staring at me accusingly nearby, I sobbed. Sobbed for my parents and for my dead innocence. Sobbed for the end of my near-perfect life and the fact, that, oh God, I killed a man.

God, I killed a man and in that moment, I knew he wouldn't be the last.

The garden was beautiful that day, but as I walked away from the workshop, covered in blood, the flowers wilted and died, just like the happy woman did moments before.

To Be Continued....