Poppy: A Short Story

A yellow satchel hit the lush green grass. Mint blue high top Converse were flung down next to it. One single Red Delicious apple rolled out of the satchel. 

Enid was made for the forest. Every summer, she was shipped off to her grandparents’ cottage in the middle of nowhere. But Enid didn’t mind at all. In fact, she loved the rustling of the big green leaves and the squeaks of small critters so much she looked forward to her summer adventures more than anything. She found the green nature around her so calming; she forgot about all her worries and just climbed tall oak trees and scraped her knees and ran through fields full of bright red poppies. 

Today, as she had done every sunny summer day for the past four years, Enid had dropped a snack and her journal into her small satchel and flung it over her shoulder. Not ten minutes had passed, and she was already by the small lake, watching a squirrel make its way from tree to tree. The lake was freezing cold and so still; it looked like a mirror. Enid caught her reflection in it and gazed at her flaming red hair and green eyes for a couple of seconds. Then, noticing the squirrel had disappeared above her, she leapt up again and ran off in its presumed direction. Enid gathered poppies that day, so many she kept dropping them. She didn't have a care in the world, playing with hares as tame as kittens and chasing after beautiful yellow butterflies. That was until dark clouds suddenly covered the skies, plunging everything around her into shadow. Enid tried to remember the last time a storm had broken out while she was out and about, but such an occurrence didn’t come to mind. Powerful storms always came when she was peacefully sleeping in the attic of her grandparents’ cottage. 

Enid spun around, deciding to run home, but suddenly realized that she did not recognize the small clearing she was in. A wild apple tree with barely any fruit stood right on the edge. Where had she come from? Enid had been so focused on the small white hare with the black ears and tail scampering about that she had not paid any attention to her surroundings as she made her way through the forest. 

A loud crash of thunder made Enid jump, and not a second later, heavy rain poured from the sky. The woods, teaming with life seconds before, seemed barren and desolate. Enid headed onward, her clothes getting more soaked with each second. Her bare feet slipped over the wet roots of the huge oaks and birches and maples and walnuts. She realized she had left both her satchel and her shoes by the glassy pond. Lightning struck a tree not thirty feet away, making the hairs on her neck stand up. She hurried her pace, slipping and sliding even worse. Another round of thunder and lightning not a second later. Enid started to run, but tripped over a rock, hurting her knees as she fell. She had no idea where she was going. Her heart thumped in her ears so loudly, she thought she would go deaf. Scrambling to her feet, she wiped her muddy hands on her overalls, shaking. Rain dripped from her face as she struggled to make out the path in front of her. She rubbed her eyes with her equally wet and now dirty fists and stopped in shock. Lightning flashed before her eyes. In front of her stood a small boy, much younger than her. He had the same flaming red hair and piercing green eyes. Enid feared she knew this boy all too well. 

“We missed you,” she whispered, afraid to scare the boy off.  

He didn’t answer; instead, he turned and began walking away. 

“Wait, come back!” Enid yelled desperately and hobbled after the boy. As she caught up, she realized he was showing her the way. They were finally on a path she recognized. Rain still poured down and thunder crashed. The small boy began running. Enid, rain hitting her eyes, wouldn’t dare blink. What if he disappeared again? 

“Why, Drystan, why?” she called after him. “Why did you go out that night?”  

The boy, as if deaf, did not react to her cries and just kept going. 

And then, they stopped. There, in the clearing, stood the elegant cottage, Enid’s home, its windows filled with the bright, welcoming glow of warmth and safety. 

Enid turned to the redheaded boy. Her green eyes filled with tears. 

“Go,” he whispered. 

Enid would have done anything to make time stop at that second. Anything to feel the happiness of a full family. Anything to not know how it was to lose someone.  

And then, she turned to her home, where she knew her grandmother was baking an apple pie and her grandfather was carving a small wooden hare. Enid gazed at the boy for one last time. And she went. Her bare feet brushed the wet grass. She was by the front door when she turned back. Lightning struck the tree she had been standing under not five seconds ago. It fell with a crash, breaking and flattening all the bushes and greenery under it. The boy was nowhere to be seen. 

Enid caught her breath and pushed the front door open, disappearing into the warmth of the cozy cottage. 

The next day, Enid made her way to the pond that looked like a mirror. Her satchel and shoes had vanished. Instead, in that very place, grew one single bright red poppy.