Orchids- The Brown Bench by Selina

The Brown Bench

The gentle wind brought the fragrance of blooming pink lilies growing from the lake along and caressed her wrinkly face to smear the silver tear that glistened in the corned of her eye away. The chirping of the birds and the rustling sounds of leaves echoed in her ears as her vision began to clear. The lady is here again, at Centennial Park, sitting on this isolated brown bench covered with bits of dull red leaves, holding the pink orchid with its pedals that once felt like soft velvet, that once symbolised their eternal love. Waiting.

The pure white orchid attached to the little girl’s silky black hair caught her attention. The girl scampers along the lake and hummed a peaceful melody with the ruffles on her pink velvet dress flowing with the wind, forming a nostalgic image in front of the lady's eyes. A strong gush of icy wind blew the white orchid on her hair into the lake, forming ripples on the still water.

Beside the little girl, a middle-aged man was kneeling down on one knee and handing a bundle of blossoming pink orchids to a woman. The woman’s face shone with happiness. They gazed at each other with tender affection and shared a vision of the future that no one will interfere.

Watching them was like watching her past flashing before her eyes. These memories surged her emotions like a tempest. The voice of his unachieved promises echoed in her head, “Wait for me, I’ll be back for you.” So she waited, and waited, for 5, 10, 20 years, everyday she sat on this bench, holding the pink orchid he once gave her but long withered. Waiting…

Author's notes:
- White orchids symbolise innocence
- Pink orchids is the gift for 14th wedding anniversary

292 words. A rather short creative, I'll try doing my prison creative some other day. Hope you'll enjoy it and please point out any problems with my grammar, especially with my expressions. Thx!

Orchids - Teangmháil by Alicia

Teangmháil 

Charlotte delved into the darkened corner of the library, fingertips brushing the spines of the books, imagining their leaves shivering in the dusk. There was something beautiful about diving into the deepest bookshelves with only the whispers of thousands of men and women to guide her in the pitch black. She wondered why the lights had gone off so early in the evening; it wasn't closing time for another hour, give or take twelve minutes. 

Eventually, she dusted herself off in an area she couldn't recognise by the bumps in the carpet. For there were none in this section; the feeling of well worn thread had been left behind in the overhanging gloom. Beneath her rubber soles, she sensed the hard flat surface of a lonely Constitutional collection or a Gaelic realm beyond her translation. Charlotte could hear the valiant cries of kings and knights, hushed between the uncracked pages of the heavy volumes. She could almost see the jumble of legality which was almost a different language in itself.

Charlotte wanted to know, wanted to see. She withdrew a book at random, and retraced her footsteps. As the uneasy glow from the fluorescent lights of the children’s section peered from behind the anthology shelves, she looked down to the precious specimen she had retrieved from its companions of the night.

ADTIMCHIOL AN CHREIDIMH COMHAGHALLUIDHEDAR AN MAIGHISER, AGAS AN LEANAMH

The words made no sense. Charlotte set the book down on a study desk, and opened it.

Ages – she wondered if it could possibly be centuries – of dust and heavy compression indicated there was something lodged. Something left behind.

Between two entrenched pages of rich Gaelic text titled Teangmháil and the crunch of yellowing paper, was a bookmark. A bookmark which from the first glance appeared to be not much older than Charlotte was. It was a slim strip of cardboard, as wide as two fingers and long as her hand. On closer inspection, there was a date, firmly written in a flowing signature – 20^th March 1887 – which definitely made it much, much, much older than Charlotte.

She flipped it over, and on the back, was the faded outline of a flower. It was an orchid. A white one, its pure albicant petals barely visible, but quietly luminescent. Charlotte recognised it from the thousands of delicate illustrations of passionate botanists in the Botany section downstairs. Her father gave her mother one last year, to commemorate their fourteenth anniversary. It now lay preserved, behind a thick glass case and enveloped in solid resin.

But what was it doing in an original Gaelic translation?

Charlotte rose from her seat, with the book in hand – and bookmark safely pressed inside - and asked Ms Lima to lend her a magnifying glass. The faint folds of the orchid revealed an inscription in dim black ink which had diminished over time to a scrawny blue.

My darling Violet, please accept this orchid. My affections for you have only begun and bear not the inkling of a conclusion. They will never end alike the tales we both do cherish. - J.H.H

The young girl, fond of books for reasons she had never quite been able to comprehend beyond the companionship of their friendly whispers, smiled. Charlotte returned to the comforting shelves of abandoned old men with wigs, wondering how many of them really were just dashing young and noble Victorians.

She replaced the last living relic of these two long lost souls whose bodies had perished with time, into the vessel which fulfilled the mysterious J.H.H’s everlasting promise. 

~OvO~

DON'T READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE IF YOU'RE ON A TIGHT SCHEDULE. IT'S ~20CM LONG.

Author's Note: 592 words. I will take this moment to say I really can't write soppy romance - not even indirectly. I actually did Googling whilst writing this, to substantiate the Gaelic and flower inferences. A few reasons and explanations which I feel entitled to give as disclaimers for my carp: 

•  Teangmháil means Encounter, and is an Irish (not Scottish, and I'll explain why this is bad) Gaelic love poem about someone whose loneliness and silence is touched by this other person's (the love) loneliness and they kiss. But this moment lasts only a short while and goes away again. The kiss however, hovers and becomes a cloud which sometimes descends in that moment of silent silence at night to rid of the loneliness again. :) So i thought that was an appropriate page for that bookmark to be on.
• However, Adtimchiol an chreidimh comhaghalluidhedar an maighiser, agas an leanamh is an ancient SCOTTISH Gaelic text written in 1631 by Jean Calvin, and I don't even know what the book is about because I just can't find it on Google, but it's the oldest book held by the Scottish National Library. The inconsistencies keep coming. I'm pretty sure it's not the type of book that has Irish love poetry in it.
• 20th March 1887 is the date of the spring equinox - YES I checked - and somehow that seemed romantic in a spring-y kind of way. Don't ask me I am not a sentimentalist. 
• Originally I was going to set this in Victorian England (hence the 1887 date), with Charlotte as a young lady being wooed, but I just can't write in Victorian so I gave up and set it in a library with the orchid as a bookmark. It's not even a living flower. I'm really crying over this story. 

Alicia Being Reference-y: 

• 1887 is the year Arthur Conan Doyle started publishing Sherlock Holmes
• Yes, I really did almost put J.H.W but changed it to J.H.H so it isn't as obvious 
• Yes, Violet is a reference. To purple. 
• kings and knights - come on Jennifer, what do you think of? 

This story didn't have to be Gaelic, or any of it. It could have been simple. But I had a mental breakdown and somehow wrote Gaelic - a word that I can't help thinking says "garlic". I'm so sorry. 

Please take it and leave me to cry in this corner. This author's note is probably longer than the story. 

TL;DR - I can't write romance. I'm sorry. 

Orchids - Outgrown by Jennifer

Outgrown

It has only been 6 years, but today the group of young girls I remember in my graduation photos have transformed into the beautiful ladies seated around this coffee shop reunion.

Braces removed, pimple marks faded and the stress of the impending HSC absent in their eyes, it hits me how they have all grown. Long gone are Theresa's signature Nike joggers, replaced by the black stilettos whose glinting tip taunts any approaching stranger. She turns to me and flashes her perfect smile, beckoning me over to her table.

'Hey, how have you been?' The lingering keenness in her musical voice reminds me of who I must be, of the desire to rebuild that past intimacy which had existed between us.

I wear a foolish grin. 'Just as usual. You?'

'Yeah, around the same. Isn't this a great idea? How'd you manage to organise this reunion so well?'

An insignificant primitive instinct falters for a moment within me at her praise. A great idea. That was what I expected initially as well. It strikes me that the strained smile I pull performs poorly against their immaculate complexions.

'Well, it's great that we're here together now, isn't it?' 

Her wavy, mahogany hair glints with the fluorescence of the cafe light as she nods enthusiastically. 

I dare myself to take a long look at these women around me, these people who had accompanied me in a stressful but rewarding high school life. And it becomes clear that my perceptions had been far outdated ... my immature teenage narcissism being stripped of me painfully.

Torn away from my egoism, the story of the ugly duckling happens in reverse. What had happened to the sense of security and superiority many years ago? I pinch the back of my shin under the table until it goes numb, casually stealing another glance at the gathering around the table. Once I had thought that I was the elegant white swan, maybe not the best but fine nonetheless ... but gradually the ugly ducklings of my herd bloomed and, caught up in my own vanity, I had failed to realise that it is now I who is the ugly duckling.

I pull my shoulders back, chin up, in what I know is a futile attempt to live up to these ladies around me. In a final, exhausting effort, I try to laugh sincerely as the outgrown grass in a garden of orchids.

Author's Note: 405 words. I am getting less and less creative judging from the shrinking word count haha. There are so many aspects of this creative which I would not write in something that I actually have to hand in (haha 'pimple marks faded') but this is a half hearted attempt at writing something which 'I know about'. Not really, since I haven't done the HSC yet ...

Orchids - the stimulus!

There...is no stimulus!

This week, we're dealing with just the word "orchids", as we don't have enough time for an outside provider. :)