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16+ Violence

Two Purple Flowers

by Cailey

Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence.

I have one green eye and one brown eye. The green eye sees truth, but the brown eye

sees much, much more.

My mother told me once that I was never to speak of the things I saw with this

brown eye. “It will be your own little secret,” she whispered into my ear, the

left ear which was closest to my brown eye. While she talked she lifted a thin

finger to poke my nose and then slid it down to the corner of my mouth. She

tugged at this corner, forcing half of my face into a smile. “It’s nothing to

be ashamed of, dear. I don’t want you to think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Then why can’t I tell?” I persisted, pulling my face away from my mother’s touch.

She pushed her lips together into a thin line and turned her own perfect blue

eyes towards the bed, away from me. “Something is wrong with me, isn’t it?”

“No, darling, of course not.” I didn’t believe her words any more than she did.

“I can tell you though, about what I see?” My voice rose in a high pitch squeak,

searching again for something to hold onto. I felt as though my world was

growing darker, and I needed the speck of light that only my mother could


“No, not even me. Listen, my sweet, it would be best if you could learn to ignore

everything you see. Try to live like the rest of us, without the added

fantasies. You mustn’t be ashamed, my dear, I only think you will have a better

time if you can hide away anything unusual that you see.” My mother still did

not look at me, and I wondered if she thought my mismatched eyes were ugly.

Her words stung even more than her distanced bearing, and I felt sobs rising

through my chest. “They aren’t fantasies!” I shouted. My mother instantly

silenced me with her thin hand, skin that I had once thought felt soft. Now her

hand smothered me, and the smell of soap that I used to love made my breakfast

rise up to my mouth. I shoved the hand away and ran outside, where I stopped

half-way in the house and half-way in the street and let all the food escape

from my stomach. The vile taste that lined my mouth made me even sicker, and I

retched again.

“Darling? What is it? What’s wrong?” I could hear my mother’s voice, but I

could not answer her. Every word that came from her mouth only increased my

disgust, until I could no longer stand the bitterness that filled every part of

my body. I did not give her a chance to reach me before jumping over the mess

of my sickness and running like a madman down the dirt street. I knew people

were watching me, probably standing in their doorways pointing as I ran.

“There she goes, that strange girl with the different colored eyes.”I imagined the adults shaking their heads and feigning pity. The children would head their parents’ voices and come to stare

as well. One of them would recognize me and laugh.

“Oh, her? At school the other day she asked Joseph why he had a rope around his

neck. Stupid girl, he didn’t have any rope anywhere. That’s not the first time,

either. She sees things all the time.” The child would laugh again and run off,

because I had already been mocked and harassed to the point where I no longer

provided the satisfactory entertainment. But perhaps, I thought as I ran,

perhaps the parent would realize that the day after I saw the rope Joseph’s

father was arrested for stealing and cheating. The trial had not happened yet,

but I knew the outcome. Joseph’s father would be condemned, and his punishment

would be hanging.

I escaped the suffocating limits of the village square, and sprinted past the

last few houses that sat like unwanted moles on the face of the earth. As I

emerged into the forest I thought I saw a horse running alongside me, but when

I turned to look with my right eye, the green one, I saw only the trees sliding

by in a whir of brown and green.

“Ignore everything you see,” my mother’s voice repeated into my head, and I reached up

to cover my ears while I ran. The action took my mind away from running, and my

foot caught on some invisible obstacle and my body lunged forward into the cool

dirt. My mouth opened and a sound escaped from between my chapped lips- a sound

that I could not believe to be my own. For a moment I turned and scanned the

trees in search of some wild beast, but not even my brown eye could see the

monster. The sound had come from my own throat, and it moved down into a quiet

moaning growl that came from the very depths of my being. I wondered, as I

listened to my own distant cry, whether the sound did not come from the eye


“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” my mother had said. And yet it was. There was

something wrong with me, and the knowledge filled me with dread. I could not go

back to the village; I could not go back to my mother. When the moan had run

its course and the fire in my legs had subsided, I pushed myself up and turned

around to look back the way I had come. I closed my green eye, though I had to

scrunch my whole face in the effort of doing so, and let the brown eye, the

different eye, take control. I saw my mother wearing various shades of red,

even though she had been dressed in blue when I left. I did not understand the

sight at first, just my mother, asleep in her bed.

My truthful eye opened and I saw the dirt road and the patches of yellow and green grass,

and I saw the blue sky above me, and I saw two purple flowers beside the road.

I blinked several times and then closed my right eye once more and let the

dirty eye take control. This time I saw my father in his work clothes, with a

hammer in his hand. He was walking away from the house, but as he walked I

could see the knife that he had forgotten on the shelf. He must have stabbed a

piece of meat and eaten it off the knife the way he always did when he was in a

hurry. Except, as he worked on the leak in the roof he had set the knife

precariously on the edge of the wooden beam across the ceiling. If anyone even

touched the walls of the house it would fall.

I opened my eye again, and the grass beside the road matched the color of my truthful

eye. Except, I did not think that the eye told truth at all. Maybe a little,

broken fragment of truth. The other eye, the one that was unusual and shameful,

the other eye told the real truth, the whole truth.

My mother was going to walk in the house and brush against the wall, and the knife

was going to tip over the edge of the beam and fall, just as my mother stepped

underneath. I saw this with my brown eye, and I knew that what I saw would

happen unless I ran back and told my mother not to go inside, not to touch the

walls, not to take that one extra fatal step.

Listen, my sweet, it would be best if you could learn to ignore everything you see.” I

turned back to the purple flowers that danced ever so slightly in the breeze. I

closed my lips tightly, the way my mother had done, and my tongue tasted

bitterness. I spat the taste out of my mouth, disgusted that such a vulgar

flavor had come from within me.

“Hide away anything unusual that you see.” I reached down and tore the two purple

flowers from the earth, roots and all. Then, that same animal sound rising up

from behind my brown eye, I rubbed the roots, dirt, and stem into my brown eye.

The dirt stung, but I continued to push harder and harder until I imagined that

the eye must be bleeding, though it could have been only tears.

I turned away from the village and began walking. I could only see the broken truth that

my green eye showed me. I saw the blue sky and the green trees shading the

road, and if I turned around I saw the two purple flowers painted red and lying

in the mud.

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193 Reviews

Points: 575
Reviews: 193

Mon Sep 09, 2013 12:26 am
herbgirl wrote a review...

I am slightly confused.
Did she destroy her brown eye?
Is it still working?
Now, on to what I think is awesome.
I love how you describe her physical pain, and her 5 senses. Like when you said she heard that mangled cry, or felt that taste in her mouth.
I think that even just the logic of this is so creative. She can see how people die. That must be so sad for her. Every day, even with the people she loves, she can see their awful deaths.
So i can see why she want to leave.
So awsome.
I love it.
Plese write another chapter to this awesome story.

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508 Reviews

Points: 12741
Reviews: 508

Mon Sep 02, 2013 12:51 am
dragonfphoenix wrote a review...

Very interesting story! Had me wondering where the ability came from, and where you're going with this [please tell me this isn't all of it!]. I liked how you had such vivid descriptions, and was definitely curious what all the flowers and such meant. The only thing that bugged me (and continues to bug me on other writing) is that I have no name. What am I supposed to call your Main Character? "I"? That's not a very good name, and it doesn't lend well with the sympathy department. I feel sorry for her, but I have no idea who I'm feeling sorry for.
Hope that helps!

Cailey says...

Actually, I meant this as a short story. I am currently busy with another novel, which will be a sequel and will therefore consume me for a while.
In fact, this character did have a name, Riley, but I took it out because I didn't want to get too attached.
But- I will definitely remember that giving a name helps, since I do want my readers to be attached to her, even if I'm not. :)

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221 Reviews

Points: 1476
Reviews: 221

Thu Aug 29, 2013 8:52 pm
Vivian wrote a review...

I blame her mother. I like the story it's kind of scary. Don't think I like the mom,you really shouldn't tell your kids stuff like that. Personally I think that little girl should be happy she has an amazing power like that. Her eyes probably look cool. But I want to know, how the heck does she make her eye bleed with flowers are roots that hard or was it the dirt?

Cailey says...

I guess the dirt and just the pressure she puts on her eye with her hand when she rubs it. I was actually wondering about that part. I don't know if you can actually make your eye bleed by rubbing it. I've never rubbed dirt in my eye attempting to blind myself....

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21 Reviews

Points: 274
Reviews: 21

Thu Aug 29, 2013 5:37 pm
xxxXanthexxx wrote a review...

Hey, Xanthe here.

I like your idea for this. It's really unique. The story had me glued from the first line. It is sad how the girl is treated horribly because she has a unique and special gift. I also liked how this is written. The way you described everything is effective and you did a really good job at portraying the way the girl sees things.

I didn't see too many mistakes in this. I am not too good at pointing them out, sorry. I did, however, see a couple. Some minor spelling mistakes, nothing that you can't find yourself after some editing.

Overall, I loved this and I would like to read some of your other work.

Keep writing!

Cailey says...

Thank you! I'm glad you liked it! I look forward to writing some more to let you read! :D

xxxXanthexxx says...

:3 no problem

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65 Reviews

Points: 323
Reviews: 65

Thu Aug 29, 2013 8:04 am
NightWalker wrote a review...

Hi there Cailey,here I am to make a review on your fantastic short story here!

I really love the entire story here.It is like you have such a very incredible imagination that you put it all here in your story to make all the characters alive.And when I read it,I can imagine it all in my mind.It is a beautiful story while at the same time creepy as well.I also like the main character here( a girl with the different coloured eyes) and how nice is her mother is even though she didn't believe what she(I) saw through her brown eye.I can feel through the way she talks to the girl(I) and like what I said before,you make them alive!

Overall,I really amazed with your talent on writing story and make me jealous as well :D .I enjoy reading your story and I hope it was a novel,not a short story lol!I have no doubt,I give you 10/10.Good job and keep writing here in YWS!
Thank you,cheer :)

Cailey says...

Thank you so much for this encouraging review!! I'm really glad you liked it. And, this one isn't a novel, at least not yet. I feel like I couldn't turn it into my novel since the first line (which gave me all the inspiration) wasn't even mine.

But I will certainly be writing more that I post on YWS!

a little humanity makes all the difference
— Rosendorn