Pink Sunflowers

The flowers were right next to her, pink even though she planted them thinking they were yellow. She looked up at the man standing in front of her with a piece of paper. The piece of paper that was the most important piece of paper in the world. She reached outwards, her hand outstretched and-

RING RING

Her eyes opened slowly. The sun was rising, shining into the dilapidated room. She heard the bicycle bell yet again. Who was here this early in morning?

She looked from her window and saw the man from her dream. Or was he the man from her dream? She headed for the door, wrapping her robe around her tightly and opened the door. The man’s hand, raised mid knock, lowered his hand “Here’s your letter, miss.”

She looked at him. She had never looked at him before. He had a mole under his eye and dimples when he smiled. His hands were oddly clenched.

“Do I know you?” She said as she looked at him more closely. He smiled and his dimples were seen “I’m your regular delivery postman?” His hands were still clenched.

She looked at him again. Why did he seem so familiar? She looked at the letter in his hand. As she extended her hand towards the letter, he handed her a clipboard.

“Signature, miss” he said as she took the clipboard. He handed her a pen. A pen with pink ink. Pink.

She looked at the flowers next to the porch. Pink. They were pink flowers. Instinctively, her hand moved over the paper. A name she didn’t recognize. Jemma.

She handed over the clipboard to him. He looked at the name and his eyes furrowed in disappointment. As she took the letter, she wondered if she should open it. Something told her not to. She looked at the postman and he was looking at the letter, his eyes wide in curiosity. She looked at the letter again, cold to touch.

She looked at it again, eager to find out what was inside and chose to open it. As she slipped her finger under the flap, a piece of paper poked out. When she started to pull the paper out, she could read out the letters-

RING RING

She dropped the paper in a shock. As she saw the paper flutter to the ground, the postman looked at her in disappointment. An announcement echoed in the background barely audible to her.

Patient Jemma Staham, guilty of killing Mr David Lynn, employed at a postman position, had failed the test. She appears to move forward in the same path she did when she committed the crime. The test will reconvene with the same situation in 5 hours.

She reached for the paper, memories swirling in her head. The knife in her hand. The flowers, pink from the blood that pooled around them. Her hand extended towards the paper and when she turned it, the text was bold on the paper.

GUILTY