Essay on The Bouquet

The Bouquet

When Charlotte was 10, she was lost and then she was found.

As she ran through the perfectly manicured grounds, freshly fallen leaves whipped through the air, a kaleidoscope of colours, bronze, gold and scarlet, tangling in her hair, contrasting sharply with the dark colouring of her curled locks. Charlotte sped up as she heard footsteps quicken behind her, a voice calling her name. It had found her, she had to get away. She also knew she needed to go home. It had been hours since she had left, but she had got sidetracked, enjoying the fresh air, away from her duties. Her mother surely must be missing her. The naked trees reached their knarled, spindly fingers skywards, begging for mercy. When she pushed through the bushes, they scratched and pulled at her frock, ripping the delicate velvet pleats and tearing the intricately detailed lace.

In her porcelain skinned hand she clutched a bouquet of flowers, beautiful and as bright as the finest sunset. Their petals healthy and alive, almost glowing from within. Her perfect face was a mask of terror, red rosebud lips twisted into a grimace, cheeks flushed pink, and jewel green eyes glistening with near tears. The sky had lost its original colour. Where there was once a sheet of impenetrable blue, now lay a painting of watercolour. Dull greys, purples and blacks bled into one another, disfiguring their shades and creating new hues unknown to any artist. The birdsong has ceased to play, an eerie silence filled the grounds broken only by the crunching of leaves underfoot, like tiny animal bones snapping beneath her golden slippers, and the faint call of the monster.

Charlotte knew she had to keep running, she would soon be home with her mother. Her mother would know what to do. She would know how to rid Charlotte of the monster that always chased her, that constantly pursued her and drove her near madness. She needed those magic pills. The ones that her mother gave to her daily, which kept the terrible creatures that lurked at bay. Then she wouldn’t have to be afraid, at least not until the next day. She had forgotten to take them earlier, she was too busy exploring the woods in search of perfect things to collect. Like the sunset flowers. And now it was too late.

Suddenly the trees thinned out and Charlotte was running across the clearing, the mansion now in sight. In her state of panic she realised that it actually looked rather like a demon under the darkening sky, its many windows gleaming menacingly in the weak light, the door like the mouth of a terrible creature, waiting patiently to devour her whole. The footsteps behind her were getting increasingly louder. She turned and gasped, as her vision was clouded with dark shapes, merging together to form the terrifying figures that chased her. It was over in a second, one minute the sky was above her, intimidating and unwavering, the next there was total darkness.

The well had loomed up in front of her, unseen and unmoving, and she had tumbled right into it, the bouquet flying from her hand and landing with a soft thump on the dry ground. As she fell, velvety darkness engulfed her and the world became a spinning vortex of black, threatening to suppress her. The water felt cold as she made impact, tiny icy needles driving into her

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