Freshly Picked...
--->
Freshly Picked...
“This is the one thing I’m doing right..." Dimitri muttered over and over again as
he hurried to the train station. The place looked so empty and barren. As he made his way
to the ticket booth, he felt like a lost puppy: wide-eyed and confused, looking for a home
that he didn’t belong to. Under his breath, he muttered, “I don’t belong. I would be a
filthy, flea-bitten mutt in a palace of silver and gold."
The woman in line behind Dimitri gave him a confused look, but he was too
wrapped up in his thoughts to notice. He looked up at the sky, which reflected how he
was feeling: gray, sullen, and without the moon’s luminous light to guide him.
“The Grand Duchess Anastasia..., who would’ve known? I have to forget about
her. Princesses don’t marry kitchen boys, remember? Especially, not this kitchen boy..."
Glancing up ahead, Dimitri noticed he was about to come up next. Slowly,
shuffling his feet forward, he reached into his pocket for some money to pay his ticket
with. He touched a material that felt like soft velvet. Digging it out, he pulled out the rose
that Anya had given to him in Paris.
A swirl of thoughts entered his mind. The music, the laughter, the lights, the
happiness,...and then there was Anya: full of life and...perhaps, full of love. A warm smile
crossed his face, erasing the sullen look he held only moments before. “The look in Anya’s
eyes when she gave me the rose, and when we parted.... Was that love??Dimitri
pondered. He look at the rose, frail and lovely, the crimson petals dipping ever so
slightly... “Frail and lovely...and you have to take the chance before it wilts away.?Casting
his eyes on the rose again, he thought it was funny how vibrant and new the rose
appeared, though it had been in his coat pocket for over a day. It was as though the rose
was just freshly picked...
Back