Daisies
A Story About A Girl
by: IsEveryoneThisLost


This is a story.
You could say it a love story.
You could say it’s a cautionary tale.
You could say it’s a poem, free verse of course.

Picture a girl 7 years old, playing in a field of daisies. She’s running, she’s laughing, and she’s at the top of a hill now. Do you see the way she doesn’t care as she gets her Sunday dress dirty? Or as her shoes fall off and her grass stained feet are slowly caked with dirt. Picture her standing at the top of the hill, looking over the road, to both sides, wondering why there are no cars on it. Wondering why the lines are the way they are. Wondering for the sake of curiosity. She picks a daisy, and marvels at its beauty; she carries it with her for the rest of the day. She loves that flower intently and is loved in return, but she doesn’t realize that in plucking the daisy she killed it. Doomed it to die long before its time, no matter how much water she puts the daisy in, or how much plant food she begs her parents to pour in the cup, the flower will die.

Picture this girl, 12 years old, laughing with her friends. She walks down the halls of her school, glancing through the double glass doors. Outside she sees a field of daisies, alone, with no one playing in it. She turns away to face her friend as a boy walks by; she glances over her shoulder and stifles a giggle. Do you see her walk out the door, following the boy, walking to her school bus? Do you see her change? Did you notice the moment when she stops trying to be young and starts trying to be an adult? Watch as she goes home and looks at herself in the mirror, and decides that she’s not pretty enough. She loves that mirror, she looks in that mirror every day, she has pictures from her family vacation the year before, slumber parties with her friends, her playing with her puppy.  Everyday when she wakes up she sees herself in those pictures. She’ll soon be replacing them with cut outs of models from magazines, pictures of who she wants to see. She loved the mirror that morning, but she’ll hate it a little more every day after this. You’ll see it when she ignores that, despite all her hate, the mirror will never show her anything but herself.

Picture the same girl. She’s 15 now, ready to grow up, or that’s what she’s been telling herself for so long. But maybe that’s just what the world whispers in her ear. She spends hours in front of the mirror, now covered with pictures of the latest “it” girl, and slogans about how diet will pay off in the end, trying to make herself beautiful. She sucks in the gut only she can see, pulls her hair around to cover the faults in her neck that no one else notices, uses make up to cover the blemishes that just might exist. Watch as she gets picked up and whisked away by the guy she’s been working so hard for, trying to get him to chase her. Do you see him drive her around in his new car? Do you see him reach over and take her hand? Do you see him look into her eyes? He made her a picnic in the park, next to the empty field of daisies – long out of bloom. He spreads out a blanket, opens the basket, and reveals his carefully prepared surprise. Did you hear her heart racing?
Watch as he takes her back to his place, and as they sneak into the basement. Watch as he kisses her, and holds her close; watch as she melts, and forms her body to his. Notice how they almost fit perfectly. Do you see her hands pull him closer? Do you see his hands roaming?  Do you notice the look in her eyes, the one that he missed? Do you see him notice the resistance, and whisper that he loves her, before nibbling on her ear? Did you notice the fear in her eyes? Did you catch how she was too frightened to ask to be taken home early? Did you see the moment she hopes her curfew will arrive sooner? But he ignores it because she doesn’t say anything, so he has no reason care. And she enjoys it, or maybe that’s just how she thinks she’s supposed to feel.

Picture the very same girl, but she’s 18 now. Watch as she drives an extra two miles past the abortion clinic on her way home from work. Notice the car slowing down, as she thinks about it, and all she gets is a honk from the unsympathetic car behind her. So she keeps going, past the newly plowed field where daisies used to grow. Do you see her nervously pull in the third time she drives by? Do you see her sit in the parking lot rubbing the place on her left hand where a ring used to be? Do you think her finger feels vacant and awkward? Do you see her drive off? Notice her foot being heavy on the gas; the tension in her leg helps to stop it from trembling. Watch as she walks through her concerned home, refusing to tell them what is wrong.
Did you notice the fear in her eyes? Did you see the hopelessness of the situation? Did you see the contemplation of what comes next? She sits and cries in her room, and no one knows why. She can’t make a decision, and it’s tearing her apart. She has been plucked from her stable life. She summons up strength she didn’t know she had

Picture the exact same girl, only this time she’s 25, working two jobs to pay for food, day care and the rent for her government subsidized apartment. Watch as she comes home from work tired, but still reads to her daughter before putting her to bed. Watch as she gets up early on her day off to pack two lunches and load them into her trunk. See her gently wake up her daughter and lead her to the car. Do you see the excitement in her face? Do you see the wonder in her daughter’s? Did you catch her checking the map every exit? Did you notice the way she makes sure she doesn’t get lost, as she drives 3 towns over? See her park the car and get out with her daughter. Watch as she reveals the picnic to her daughter’s delight. Notice the way she spends all day playing with her daughter in a field of daisies.

This was a story.
You could say it was a love story.
You could say it’s a song.
This was a story
But that doesn’t mean you need to look for a moral.