The Cherry Blossom (Inkwell Prompt #59)

The day I was born was supposed to be the best day of my mother’s life; at least that is what I have heard women say in the movies, but that day came with so much pain that some people might say that it wasn’t meant to be.

My mother wasn’t anything special, in everyone's opinion, she wasn’t even supposed to be having children because of the life she lived, but one thing led to another and she was pregnant; deciding to keep a child against all odds.

She spent most of her pregnancy in the same routine as before; dancing in bars with dim lights, loud music, and filled with all kinds of smoke; I am often told about how lucky I am to be normal because of these.

Her pregnancy was one that was envied by most women because of how peaceful it was, she had bright glowy skin and she functioned even better than most 18 year olds.

She gave birth on a bright summer morning, the air was crisp, the sky sparkled blue and the trees were yellow, luminous, and free just like my mother was, and it all felt like a well-written story with a happy ending until complications kick in, and only one of us survived.

With no one there to take me home, calls went out, and my father was found, he was a married Congressman with five children who had a drunken night that he wanted to forget but alas, some nights could never be forgotten.

My father and his wife not being ready to take care of a newborn decided that it was best for me to be raised by his mother “Morsa” as I called her, and maybe it was a blessing or a curse depending on how you look at it.

Morsa raised me in her seaside manor which always smelled like sweets and citrus, the skies were always perfect with a tint of red, and the gardens had flowers from every part of the world which was perfection.

I always felt at peace in the garden, maybe that is why I was named after a flower, Morsa's favorite one; “ a cherry blossom” which Morsa said fit me perfectly because I was a flower waiting to blossom but, I never understood what she meant by that.

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I lived life happily hidden away from the world in the manor for 18 years until news went out about me, and my father having to save face forced me to move in with his family.

Moving into his house felt way different than Morsa's, his house felt stiff, and the air felt dry, there were no colors except neutrals, no pictures on the wall, and no gardens which was a shame because he had a yard just begging for flowers.

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During my first month, I felt like I was a caged bird kept aside for an experiment, I never left my room, and it was bad because my room looked like a cell with dirt brown walls and a smell of antiseptics, probably from the scrubbing of the white tinted tiles.

It continued that way until the sixth month and by that time, I was fed up, ready to fight for change and I knew right where to start.

I used all the money Morsa gave to me to order flowers and pay for a paint job for the whole house which was weirdly convenient since everyone was out of the house busy with something or the other.

After I was done, I waited patiently for the backlash that was expected to come, but what I heard surprised me.

“Jeez, this looks beautiful”

“Wait, who could have done this”

I quickly stepped out to see my father’s wife and her children admiring all I had done to their home which was crazy because I didn’t think they would like it.

You see, I decided to go bold with colors, using only colors like yellow, violet, and red, changing the whole look of the house from what it used to be.

After accepting that I was responsible for the makeover, we sat down and had a conversation which was the best thing because it was needed for us to grow and bond.

My father came back home almost causing a ruckus, but everyone stood up and told him that the family needed to have a change and to begin a new life because they were tired of living the old way, and just like that things changed.

Colors were introduced, there was laughter in the halls, and for the first time in a long while, the family was exploring different horizons and reaching our full potential, which was crazy because it all began with a paint job.

My stepmother would always say to me that “just like a flower that blossoms with so much beauty, I brought new life to their lives” and I guess that meant I finally lived up to my name and "blossomed".


THE END



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