Reid@YWP

Delicate and soft, the most beautiful poppy flower stands before me. Gently swaying in the breeze, her tender face gleaming up toward the sun. 

I glare across the counter from my spot nestled between the folds of the brown paper bag. Stupid Gala is doing that thing again, as she has every single day, for the past, I don’t know, week?

Four buzzes 

Wake me up, 

Loud in the quiet 

Dark. 

A seconds-long debate 

In my head