Origami

Mianhae, blog, I haven't posted anything in a while. Mama told me I should write something today, and so I shall.

A Country Gardens magazine was on the kitchen table, and, needing inspiration, I flipped through it to a random page with flowers (of course. It's a garden magazine) and this elderly lady with silver hair that goes to just below her ears. In the picture, it touches the start of her pale yellow turtleneck (did she get bitten by a vampire or something?) as she tilts her whole entire body (not just her head) to the side as she's posing with a Wisteria sinesis 'Alba' bush. AND HER GLASSES. WOWOWOWOWWW CAMEL COLORED. SO STYLISHH

She kinda looks like Harper Lee, but then again, I think most elderly people look alike :[

The title of the - story? entry? - is A Time-Tested Garden and the first sentence is: The closest thing Pamela Harper has to a garden plan is a vast collection of typed or handwritten and heavily annotated index cards cataloging every plant she has ever purchased, what she paid for each plant, and where she planted it.

If I take this sentence, alter it a little and create a short story with it, will it be considered plagiarism? Not a lot of people are gonna see this blog, anyway (this girl. Such a loner). I don't think it'll be a problem.

OOOH OOH OOOOH I just flipped to the last line of the story/entry/thing it says "Ever onward." I'll probably use that for my last sentence. Yosh! I'll start writing.

~*~

The closest thing Pamela Harper has to a garden is a vast collection of origami flowers; handwritten and heavily annotated square pieces of paper from her aunt's scrapbooking closet, stolen on those nights she never came back from drinking or gambling, torn and cut with fancy scissors to fashion wimpy flower heads perched on skewers. Her collection had grown massively ever since the first day of elementary school, when the almost senile eighty-four year old teacher called out names for attendance. She mistook Pam's nickname for "Spam". Her classmates immediately latched onto the horrible name. After all, she was filled with salty water, since she cried a lot (mainly because of the nickname). In the afternoon, after a group of little boys stole her first juice pouch ever, calling her "too ugly to drink it", her heart clenched violently and she fell to the floor, shivering and crying. Her classmates didn't know what to do, so they stood around her, making rude slurping sounds and occasionally, laughing when she started to wail. When the elderly teacher finally discovered Pam's pretty obvious panic attack, she asked for her parent or guardian's phone number. Pam tried to say the numbers out loud, but she was hiccuping and crying too much. All she could get out were gargles and short gasps, and she couldn't write anything down, either, because there was too much salty water clouding her vision. Finally, the teacher called the ambulance and ushered her into the back of the strange car, where a nurse with a friendly smile took her hand and led her to a bench, on which Pam commented that it was nicer and more comfortable than the chairs in her own house. The nurse looked at the little girl with sad eyes. Later in her life, Pam would recognize that look as empathy.

The doctor in the hospital couldn't give Pam any medicine without a signature from her aunt, who was in Las Vegas at the time, probably wasting all her money on machines with bright lights, and beer. Lots and lots of beer. She had once boasted at a high class party that she'd drunk a hundred bottles in one night. No one was impressed, not even Pam. Who brags about unnecessarily spending money? Here in the hospital, people acknowledged their own raises for their hard work, or their special skills in the arts or medicine, but they never boasted. Pam knew this because the nurse from the ambulance, who was called Rose, showed Pam how to make paper flowers after her shift had ended. She'd stay for at least an hour, gently correcting Pam's mistakes, encouraging her to always keep trying, even if the steps seemed complicated. Every day, a new flower. Every day, a secret written inside the flower, usually about their families. Rose's father had died when she was a baby, leaving her mum the only parent. Pam liked Rose's accent, "Bri-ish", especially when she said "mum" or "rubbish". Frequently, she asked the nurse to say a bunch of everyday words, which Rose was extremely patient about. She also inquired about Rose's romantic interest, because she never got a true answer. "The doctor," Rose repeated every time, blushing heavily. The doctor? Doctor who? She never found out, although she had expected to on her last day in the hospital (six days later), when her aunt could finally come and sign her medicine forms (Pam already knew how to take care of herself, since her aunt frequently left the house for many days). What she did receive on the last day was a book on origami flowers, with instructions, paper, and a note in green ink (green was Pam's favorite color) on the first page that said, "I'll see you in the future! Be strong, Pam. Love, Rose". It was the nicest gift anyone had given her, and Pam promised to always remain upright and confident. From then on, Pam made flowers every time she wasn't feeling as strong, letting her heart pour out all over the square papers in thin, black streaks. They formed dark tunnels of sorrow, guilt, and pain that led to the future, where Rose would be waiting.

On the last day of Pamela Harper's life, she lay in bed, surrounded by all her flowers, along with her friends, sons, daughters, and grandchildren. Her husband had passed away years back, shot by his own grandson, who had been given a real gun for his birthday. "What a sad life," Pam mused out loud. Her children quickly told her otherwise. No, she had lived a complete life, full of warm surprises, hyper puppies, and loyal friends she could laugh with. An adventure. Pam gave them a peaceful smile, which they returned, and the room started to glow pale green, bathing everyone in Mother Nature's elegant aura. They all watched as her flowers started spinning and spinning and spinning all around the room, lifting themselves out the open window, where they - pop! - transformed into real flowers, and danced away. Feeling them gently pull her soul with them, Pam closed her eyes and uttered her last words.

"Ever onward."

~*~

I realize that this is basically a Doctor Who fanfiction (almost) and I didn't intend it to be. But HER NAME WAS ROSE WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DOOO and Rose is such a nice nurse name, I didn't want to change it. At the end, I was gonna put a part about the police box and like "substituting" the coffin for the TARDIS but I went in a different direction - more Harry Potter like. Also, this was going to be a much longer story - I would've extended it to her teens and such... but it didn't really fit and I would've preferred not to write about mushy romance and stuff.

I recently discovered Pottermore and I had trouble remembering my username/password so I had to spend a long time figuring that out. Mei Mei just came down the stairs (I'm using the big computer now) to tell me my laptop was beeping I GOT SO SCARED but it was only the alarm for my potion.

THE STUPID HEATING BUTTONS DIDNT WORK AT FIRST AND AFTER A WHILE ONLY ONE OF THEM WORKED AND I OVERHEATED IT GAHHHHHHH. I'll have to try again - this was my third attempt. *sigh*

It takes 3 hours to brew :(

#games #medical #PamelaHarper