The Dandelions

He watched them blow in the wind.

He sat on a polished green bench watching his two kids blow dandelions across the park. It wasn’t a large park but he choose the bench closest to his kids and the strange dandelion patch they found. Though he wasn’t fond of the weed, a child’s smile had turned it into a flower- as long as they were happy, he was. So he watched his children turn weeds into flowers at the park.

He loved his children so much some could say he hated them. Most of the time he’s spending time at his desk. Hands covered in ink and sometimes his forehead. An empty inkwell, scribbled post-it-notes, a full waste bin, a room some would describe as a symbol of overtime. He was the comic artist for the local newspaper just like his father was. And, like his father, worked so hard following the premise that as long as his kids were provided for, they’ll be okay.

The first child was a lanky girl who was very good a grabbing things. Even when her late mother held her she always manage to grab something. The keys, earrings, books (especially books) and food. If she wanted it then she took it. Which surprisingly was never a problem at the store.

The second child was a small boy who kept to himself… until he got to trusting you. Then the boy would pour out all of his thoughts and energy in enough words and movements to stage a play. His mom would sit there and take the whole river that his heart had to give. And the husband could never understand that strength.

When she left them for Heaven, he almost fell into his work till his boss was wise enough to force him a break. He came home that day a man broken till a lanky girl grabbed him tightly and a small boy flooded the house with his grief. And they all sat. And they cried.

And so the man sits happily as his children play. He hasn’t been this happy in years. He looks and sees the dandelions flowing through the sky like lanterns. To him this was a festival for his love long gone. So when his children called him over he couldn’t disagree.

He gets up from the bench and is staggered a bit from sitting down too long. As he walks he feels life slowing down as if it’s preserving a moment in glass. When he gets there, one child is talking non stop while the other has a bunch of dandelions in her hands.

He goes to hug them.

Then a soft wind blows

and like dandelions the two children bodies break apart into pieces and fly across the sky like lanterns.

He looks at the patch of dandelions in utter silence. And he sees something white jutting out of the dirts. Slowly he digs up the “something“ till he sees it. A young child’s arm bone. And soon a leg. And soon a rib cage. And soon a skeleton. Then several. All with little roots and dandelions spurting out.

He looked up.

Unfeeling.

At his children flying across the sky.

He watched them blow in the wind.

And another wind blew…

and he flew too…