Through Rose Stained Glass Chapter I Scene IV

The door closed with a bang behind him, but he walked forward without jumping. His eyes narrowed as he turned down a hallway, unfazed by the buzz of the fluorescent lights. Brown bulletin boards slipped behind him along with the brick walls they hung on. Even his feet barely touched the brown carpet. He passed doors with windows, already knowing what he would see through them. Finally, he reached the end of the hall. Both of his eyes scanned the papers hanging on the bulletin board, darting each way like a hoard of bees. Then they stopped, focusing on a prize sweeter than honey.

A grin swept his face as he ripped a small stub off the flyer and stuffed it in his pocket. He marched back down the hall, only to jump when someone tapped his shoulder.

"You looking for something, son?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, you're looking at the community board. Do you need some community service hours?"

The stub in his pocket chaffed against his fingers. "Not really."

"Well, in case you change your mind." The man opened the young man's hand, and closed it over a business card.

"Thanks." The young man muttered, as he opened his hand to look at the card. Save for a hand-written phone number, the card was blank on both sides.  He glanced up to ask the man about his card, but the hallway behind him lay empty.

Gifts

Why do we give flowers to those we love?

When those flowers were once
lovers scorned, or lovers killed.

What are flowers but lives cut off,
dead things we call beautiful.

They have but one purpose:
to distract the eyes and the nose,
from a less beautiful, a less innocent
purpose.

Why say "I'm covering you in pollen"
When you can say "I love you"