³ÉÈË¿ìÊÖ

The setting sun blazed fiercely in the orange sky as it began to slip below the horizon line. The wilting flowers on the windowsill seemed almost black, silhouetted against the haze of colour, their drooping heads watching the world outside, nostalgic for the cooler breezes that had disappeared with the arrival of summer. They weren't used to this heat. Nobody was. Across the room from them, Mr and Mrs Johnson sat, slumped on the sofa, their tired eyes fixed on the screen of the television. A small electric fan on the side-table whirred along with the news reader, making a half-hearted attempt to cool down the couple. Suddenly, the shrill ring of the phone sliced cleanly through the still, stuffy atmosphere. The newsreader carried on, unaware of the disturbance. Mrs Johnson dragged herself across the room to get it.
'Hello.'
The flowers stirred slightly, their interest roused by the phone call.
With the TV muted everything was silent and all attention was fixed upon Mrs Johnson who was listening intently. Time ticked by and her face seemed slowly to drain of all colour, turning a frightening, ghostly white, eyes widening in horror, mouth agape. Finally, she managed to speak, 'ok, we'll get there as soon as we can.' Shakily, she put the phone down and turned to her husband.
'It's Sophie, she been in an accident.'

The flowers had been alone for a long time now. They were even weaker than before, their leaves browning at the edges and their petals crinkling and fading as they dried out. They were as worried about the fate of Sophie 'the Johnson's daughter ' as anybody but they couldn't do anything about it. Excitement spread amongst them as they heard the sound of the key in the lock. Seconds later, the door opened the Johnsons stumbled exhaustedly into the room and flopped onto the sofa. Their eyes were darkened by lack of sleep and reddened by crying.
'We shouldn't have left her there on her own.' Her voice was both tired and tearful.
'Even if she wasn't in a coma we would be no good to her sitting there like two zombies. We need to have a good sleep tonight and go back tomorrow morning a bit more clear-headed.'
'How can I sleep when my Sophie is alone in the hospital half-dead!' Her watery eyes stared accusingly at him and she was breathing heavily.
Half-dead. Those two, horrible words flitted around the heads of the flowers, watching in pain as the argument played through. They looked away from the distressing sight of Mrs Johnson, her argument fallen through, she herself completely broken down, sobbing in her husband's arms.

The house stayed empty for a long time after that. Every so often, Mr or Mrs Johnson would come back briefly to check up on the house and occasionally they'd both come back and stay the night but not usually. Sometimes the radio was left on accidentally, the cheerful presenter's pop songs providing a strange contrast to the tense, melancholic atmosphere of the house. Apart from that, there were only long, stretched out hours of silence. Sometimes they thought they saw Sophie from the window, her light brown curls shining, her freckles illuminated and her blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight. But no. It was only an illusion. From overheard conversations and hushed phone calls, they knew that the situation at the hospital was serious ' Sophie was in a coma and there was no guarantee that she would ever wake up. There was still a chance though. The flowers clung to that, so did Mr and Mrs Johnson. Still, sleepless nights, worry and the horrible sense of hopelessness that the flowers would see come and go, were all taking their toll on the couple. Every time they came home, they looked worse and worse ' huge bags under their eyes, pale faces and rumpled clothes. It was a terrible thing to see, but the flowers knew that the only thing that would help, would be Sophie's recovery'

It was late afternoon and the flowers were surrounded by friends and family of the Johnsons. That morning had flown by in a hurricane of excitement and activity. Everyone had arrived early, surprising and delighting the flowers and the dull room had been speedily transformed. Balloons were tied all around the walls, bright and bold, a long table had been brought in, foil-covered plates and bowls soon crowded upon it and, strung from wall to wall, a large homemade sign proclaimed 'Welcome ³ÉÈË¿ìÊÖ Sophie!' The number of people in the rooms kept on increasing, all anxious to see Sophie, mended and better, two months later.
Eventually, the flowers saw the car pull up in the driveway, saw the three Johnsons walk up to the door together and heard the key click in the lock. They were not alone ' a strange hush had fallen over the room, for a minute, everyone was silent and then the door opened and Sophie stood there, her old self, perfectly well again and everything burst back into life.