Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Flower Shop
1:55 PM | Posted by
Warwriter Widow
The bell over the door rang shrilly as Tony "The Harpoon" Scorelli opened the door. Fucking Valentine's Day, fucking girlfriends want fucking flowers...
This was the only place open this late, and he had three girls to buy for. Three dozen roses - did they have any idea how much that was going to cost? On fucking Valentine's day, too.
"Good afternoon," said the blond man behind the counter.
"Yeah," growled Harpoon. "I need three dozen roses."
"Of course, sir. Would you like to come pick them out?"
"I don't have time for that shit."
"It will only be a moment," he said. Harpoon looked at the man, who had extensive scars across his face. He wore what looked like a quilted shirt and heavy thick gloves. Probably from handling thorns all day, he thought absently. The man lifted up the corner of the counter. "I have my own greenhouse."
The Harpoon rolled his eyes, grumbled, and followed the man through the counter, to the back. They walked down a short hallway.
"Today is a very busy day," the man said absently. "Many people have come in asking for the same thing as you."
"I'll bet," he said, and the man threw open a glass door at the end of the hallway. Immediately, he was assaulted by a fresh green smell, mulch, woods, and flowers. He sneezed.
The man turned to him, alarmed. "Oh, allergic?"
"No," he said and sniffled. "There's a lot of flowers."
"Oh yes," said the man, "that there are." The Harpoon walked a little ways following the man, and then tripped on something in the ground. He regained his footing, turned to see what he tripped over. A tree root was just under the dirt floor. He didn't know how he could have tripped over it.
The man brought him to face an entire wall of roses in full bloom. There were all different colors, from pink to crimson, even a dark blue and purple. "Pick any that you like," he said with a wave of his arm.
Disgusted and wanting to get out of there, The Harpoon touched one of the blue roses. Suddenly, something lashed out and wrapped like a whip around his hand. "Hey!" he yelled.
The wall of flowers rustled, as other whiplike things came out and wrapped around his extremities. He yelled at the man, who watched impassively. The whips were thin, but they were strong, and he couldn't pull out of them. Then a thick vine came out of the floor, wrapped around his legs and yanked him up. He fell on his back with a whoosh of air, and found himself being lifted by his legs up in the air.
"Put me the fuck down!"
"Such language," the man said. The roses seemed to part away from the wall, and the man's body was turned to face the opening. Beyond the wall of roses seemed a huge grove of flowers of all sorts, flowers he'd never seen before. The vines passed him along, as if hand-to-hand, so he found himself deeper into the grove.
His eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, and he focused on something else hanging in the air. He watched it as he was passed along, and his mind didn't want to register it.
It was a badly decomposed body of what could have been a man, headless. As he went deeper in, he saw more of them in various degrees of decomposition. Bones littered the floor.
Finally, he was stopped, and he swayed upside down. He tried to pull himself up, but he couldn't. He pulled out his gun in his shoulder holster and went to shoot at what was holding his feet. Then he realized he could very well hit his feet instead. He tried to turn, but could only move his head. He shot at the gloom behind him.
The vine that held his feet shook, and other vines came out to hold him completely still. One vine with thorns tore the gun out of his hand. He could no longer move.
He screamed for a while, but no one seemed to hear, so he stopped. All the blood was rushing to his head and he couldn't focus. He lost track of time.
"Yes," said a voice, "I think he's ready."
The Harpoon opened his eyes - he had a splitting headache. "You!"
The man from the shop - he could see his blond hair in the dim light. "I believe you are ready to water the plants."
"What are you talki--"
He didn't see the sickle come at him, cleaning lopping his head off.
This was the only place open this late, and he had three girls to buy for. Three dozen roses - did they have any idea how much that was going to cost? On fucking Valentine's day, too.
"Good afternoon," said the blond man behind the counter.
"Yeah," growled Harpoon. "I need three dozen roses."
"Of course, sir. Would you like to come pick them out?"
"I don't have time for that shit."
"It will only be a moment," he said. Harpoon looked at the man, who had extensive scars across his face. He wore what looked like a quilted shirt and heavy thick gloves. Probably from handling thorns all day, he thought absently. The man lifted up the corner of the counter. "I have my own greenhouse."
The Harpoon rolled his eyes, grumbled, and followed the man through the counter, to the back. They walked down a short hallway.
"Today is a very busy day," the man said absently. "Many people have come in asking for the same thing as you."
"I'll bet," he said, and the man threw open a glass door at the end of the hallway. Immediately, he was assaulted by a fresh green smell, mulch, woods, and flowers. He sneezed.
The man turned to him, alarmed. "Oh, allergic?"
"No," he said and sniffled. "There's a lot of flowers."
"Oh yes," said the man, "that there are." The Harpoon walked a little ways following the man, and then tripped on something in the ground. He regained his footing, turned to see what he tripped over. A tree root was just under the dirt floor. He didn't know how he could have tripped over it.
The man brought him to face an entire wall of roses in full bloom. There were all different colors, from pink to crimson, even a dark blue and purple. "Pick any that you like," he said with a wave of his arm.
Disgusted and wanting to get out of there, The Harpoon touched one of the blue roses. Suddenly, something lashed out and wrapped like a whip around his hand. "Hey!" he yelled.
The wall of flowers rustled, as other whiplike things came out and wrapped around his extremities. He yelled at the man, who watched impassively. The whips were thin, but they were strong, and he couldn't pull out of them. Then a thick vine came out of the floor, wrapped around his legs and yanked him up. He fell on his back with a whoosh of air, and found himself being lifted by his legs up in the air.
"Put me the fuck down!"
"Such language," the man said. The roses seemed to part away from the wall, and the man's body was turned to face the opening. Beyond the wall of roses seemed a huge grove of flowers of all sorts, flowers he'd never seen before. The vines passed him along, as if hand-to-hand, so he found himself deeper into the grove.
His eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, and he focused on something else hanging in the air. He watched it as he was passed along, and his mind didn't want to register it.
It was a badly decomposed body of what could have been a man, headless. As he went deeper in, he saw more of them in various degrees of decomposition. Bones littered the floor.
Finally, he was stopped, and he swayed upside down. He tried to pull himself up, but he couldn't. He pulled out his gun in his shoulder holster and went to shoot at what was holding his feet. Then he realized he could very well hit his feet instead. He tried to turn, but could only move his head. He shot at the gloom behind him.
The vine that held his feet shook, and other vines came out to hold him completely still. One vine with thorns tore the gun out of his hand. He could no longer move.
He screamed for a while, but no one seemed to hear, so he stopped. All the blood was rushing to his head and he couldn't focus. He lost track of time.
"Yes," said a voice, "I think he's ready."
The Harpoon opened his eyes - he had a splitting headache. "You!"
The man from the shop - he could see his blond hair in the dim light. "I believe you are ready to water the plants."
"What are you talki--"
He didn't see the sickle come at him, cleaning lopping his head off.
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