There were petals on the floor. I stopped with my front door key still in the door and my fingers clutching my keychain. The petals were red, pink and white though they were already turning brown at the edges. They looked too small to be rose petals, but not knowing the names of flowers, I couldn’t guess any further.
I took my key from the lock, dropped my arm to my side and stepped in. There was no arrangement to the petals, they were just there in a pile as if a bunch of flowers had suddenly dropped them. I closed my single apartment door and slipped my leather satchel off. Putting my keys in the wooden bowl on the tall side table, I sidestepped the petals and went into the living room.
I searched all four rooms of my apartment, but found nothing out of place. I change out of my suit, putting on much more comforting and warmer clothes. Going back into the hallway, I knelt down and inspected the petals. There was nothing to them, though they did have a faint flower smell to them. They were soft and buttery against my fingers. I picked up a handful and tried to figure out how many there were. About four handfuls, I came up with.
I looked at my letter slot and wondered if someone had posted them through. It was possible, but why? There was no note and none of my friends would do something like this. Shaking my head, I gathered them all up in two hands and carried the petals to the kitchen bin. I dropping them in, I rubbed my hands together then had to wash them because my skin felt oily.
Where had they come from? I wondered as I washed.
No answer ever came.
The Story Files 