Daisies.

Daisies sprout from the little boy’s curly hair, his mother poking a new one through his locks every chance she gets. He runs, boundless, a zipping firebolt of joy radiating infinite waves of unfiltered emotion. The dark plague in the mother’s breast twists and she winces, from what it means rather than the pain. Drugs and radiation and weeks in crackling sterile sheets nothing to the relentless bullet train of time, ploughing through her happiness. She crashes to the ground as something wild tackles her side, daisies flying out from its frizzled mane. Laughter warms their hearts as they embrace, basking in the midday sun. One without a care in the world, the other struggling under the burden of them all.

Cold steel replaces warm arms, loneliness conquering comfort. Forgotten in a concrete jungle, golden strings of kinship defining groups, a terrifying game of limbo avoiding their relentless drive. A handwritten note rekindling phantom arms around the boy, a shell of love sent in ink and paper. Retreating to his hidden corner, folding the note and putting it in his grandmama’s old cookie tin with the rest. Basking in his stolen sunlight he hides from the harsh world, revelling in the sensations of every bite of flaky homemade pastry. Dreaded bell tones shatter his scarce solitude. As he emerges from his hollow, evil creatures circle him, waiting like vultures for their prey to stumble. Their patience paying off, they pounce. No one to save the rabbit caught in their claws, they devour him and bereave him of his scraps of warmth. Leaving the bunny shivering in a raining field, dead daisies surrounding its quivering form.

The world blurs as tears well in doe eyes, time carrying the broken, huddled form through the relentless days cycle. Comfort and strength keeping him from stumbling, imagining the kiss and hug the arduous journey to crossing the threshold brings. Quiet as a mouse, hiding in the corner of the hunting ground from the hawks, squawking in the back. He observes, taking in his surroundings before scurrying out unnoticed. Scampering back to his den, to his mother’s warm embrace, to his books and blankets, to the soups and jovial banter, to the daisies above his bed. Precious heat escapes as the door cracks open for the mouse, crashing into the hug on the other side like a bullet from a gun. Little does the mouse know that bullets hurt, little does the mouse know that the hug is the last in this den, little does the mouse know that the dark inside has struck as his mother wilts in front of him. Daisies clutched in the boy’s fist fall as his mother descends further into darkness.

Stark white plastic cages tears, grief and goodbyes from the oblivious outside. Liquids and pills fighting tiny demons coursing through veins, wives and children plagued by looming monsters in their hearts and minds. The boy watches an ornate heart rise and fall with his mother’s chest, silver peeking through its golden skin. Memories smelted into every twist of metal, leaping out at the boy, tears springing forth as he savours his mother’s embrace. Days blur and weeks merge, daisies gathered by the boy slowing weaving into a flower crown. A final testament to his love, flowers fed by tears, kisses on every petal, hugs in each stem. Adorning a hairless head, no flowing strands for the baby boy to hold and stuff daisies in, no soft pillow for a tiny boy's head to snuggle close to as his eyes drooped, much like the mother’s do now. Dreaming of her baby boy’s eyes closing, his hand clasping her thumb, leading her to an infinite bed of daisies in the summer sun.

They came like hyenas, scavengers to the weeping wound. Noses seeking the scent of rot, mouths salivating at the sight. A broken boy, crumpled on the floor, pulsing thick blood out of shattered ribs where the reaper tore out his heart. Sharp teeth break his paper skin, wicked claws things peel his muscle. The boy stumbles through the world with vultures perched on his shaky shoulders, slowly stealing his strength. His precious mind too feeble, too young, too kind to fight them off, heaping blame and guilt and regret onto himself. The boy takes the sky from Atlas’ shoulders willingly, bearing its weight to atone for nothing done wrong. Taking the moon and all the skies upon himself as though commanding the universe from beneath its dirty feet will bring his life back. He stumbles and the universe trods on him. The stumble signifying the beginning of his end. A daisy losing another petal. Wild monsters solidifying out of the smog, circling, probing. Their smokey eyes gaping with hunger, hunger for the hunt, thirst for innocent virgin blood. An orchestra of screams and howls and snarls accompany their loping charge on the boy pinned under the sky.

Blinding, burning pain. Blossoming over the boy’s side, bruises blooming along his side like daisies. At each strike, a piece of his delicate heart shatters, shards glistening on the ground with his tears. Bright fairies dance in his vision, enticing him to walk towards them. Somehow, he can, leaving his broken vessel like a baby out a womb. New life surging through his ethereal limbs, the swarm of fairies becoming a mother’s embrace. He doesn’t look back as his mother cradles his tiny head. He doesn’t think of pain as his mother soothes him with a lullaby. He doesn’t feel anything but content as his mother sends him down the cool embrace of the Lethe with daisies in his hair.