The Wallflower

The problem with the dream was that he could smell it.

It was a hardly a smell to savour. The kind of smell that comes from consumed beer-bottles, cigarette-smoke hanging thick, wasted food, spilled cola and dried sweat. The lighting of the room in the dream was in psychedelic colours: rotating, revolving and inviting the brain to spin along with them. The floor was dark and had swirling shapes. Too intimidating to look deeply to see what it was. His mind was calm though, and it became even calmer when he saw one shadow rolling a rizla. Familiar stuff, no smell of it though.

There was enough people in the room make it crowded, and there was the all-too-familiar buzz of them talking: pleasantries, bravado, secrets, gossips, and pats on shoulders. No laughs. None at all. Like they were waiting for something. Waiting for the business to be over. The trouble was he didn't know what the business was.

"Talk. There." one shadow said. A he.

"What? I-" He fumbled.

"Talk, dammit.There"

"Fella, I don't know wha-"

Shadow loomed over him. Not threatening, benevolent instead. "I said talk, dammit. Uh, the dammit part was not there originally."

"Talk about what?"

"Over there. The one who is smoking. Short hair. You asked about her yesterday."

"Uh huh"

"Roses are red, violets blue and if you fuck me I'll pay you..." The shadow whistles. "Remember?"

That was when he remembered. He didn't see her though. She has to be here somewhere.

"She is not like that, though. Alone, very. Likes it that way. Shy, probably. Has to be single. Suits you, I guess. Be careful, she may be dangerous. Armed with all the right accessories."

"Not accessories. Attitude. Attitude" He said, for he had seen her.

Long fingers, longer cigarette. Even longer drags. Short hair, pale skin and thin lips.

She is the wallflower.

He asked the shadow what she is having. "Nothing." he replied. "What about you?"

"I'll have her." And he walked.

Towards her. Straining to keep the eyes on her face in the middle of the bustle. Willing her to take notice; to turn her head so that he can see the right side of that beautiful face too. He was not content with only the left side.

Why am I doing this? I have no need to do this. I can do drugs if I want. May be a cigarette. It helps. Really...


He is not a smoker. He hates smokers. He never touched a cigarette in life. All lies.

He is a virgin. Not a lie.

He reached within five feet. He could hear her puffing out smoke. The sound of satisfaction. Blowing away life.

He never felt so confident as he was feeling then, when he was about to invite the wallflower out for coffee.

Never, and will never again.

Because what the shadow told him, was a lie. The shadow was only interested in setting him up. The shadow was only interested in adding one more shadow to this psycholand. "She is not like that, though. Alone, very...." All lies.

But the shadow failed though.

As he walked to the wallflower, he rolled over a beer-bottle and died. Rizlas flew. Roses flowed red.

But that was not before he watched her leave the room with a man who told her that violets are indeed blue.