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I was sitting eating pizza at the table and he randomly brings out a roasted chicken from behind his back and makes it "walk" towards me across the table. He then proceeded to make it do Irish dancing :v It was hilarious but creepy xD

It's short, but I'm attempting something a little different. It's been far too long since I wrote a story.

Comments would be much appreciated. ~

The Sweetest Flower of them All ♥​

“Mummy, what are we going to do today?”

I turned to look at my beautiful daughter Rose from across her bedroom. She was propped up in bed, a small smile creeping onto her face which I gracefully returned. I had woken her up with a kiss on the lips, like every morning; it had become routine. Turning back to her wardrobe, I continued putting her clothes onto hangers and answered.

“Well, how about we go down to the lake again?” The beep of her machine replied to me.

“Sure.”

I smiled again, walking to her side. It had been three months since the doctors had installed a machine for her to talk through. I had grown used to the robotic, monotonous voice that had replaced my sweetheart’s quiet mumblings- and yet, I still caught myself with a tear threatening to escape my eyes every once in a while.
At eight years old, my beautiful daughter was dying.
The doctors had diagnosed it- motor neurone disease. It was only a year ago that I had sat in the medical room, looking down at the results of the diagnosis in disbelief. Rose had looked fine, sitting next to me with an inquisitive look in her eyes. She didn’t understand why Mummy looked so sad.
But then the months passed, as they inevitably do, and I began to see a change. Rose began to complain that her legs wouldn’t do as she told them, in the grumpy murmurs of a child. Within four months she was in a wheelchair, and life immediately became more difficult for her. After five months I had to quit my job as a teacher; with her father gone somebody had to look after Rose at home.
Next she lost the ability to control her arms. Then her shoulders. Now she struggles to move her face. My mind briefly flashed back to last week. Rose and I had been at the park together- she couldn’t take part, but she liked to watch the other children run around.

“Mummy, do you like it when I smile?” Such an innocent, childish question.

“It’s beautiful,” I replied, “just like you, honey.” Rose gazed up at me from her chair, her limbs slack in the seat. Her brow furrowed slightly. Even in her eight year old mind, she knew what was happening to her. She began frantically typing letters into her machine.

“But… I won’t always be able to smile, will I?” Worry crept into her eyes. I bit my lip, wondering how I should reply.

“Um, well the doctors…” I paused, sighing.

“It’s okay, Mummy,” she interrupted, suddenly confident, “I’ll keep smiling for you, no matter what!”
Oh, how I wish I had as much faith.

“Mummy, are you okay?” The beeping of her machine snapped me out of my thoughts. I was standing over her still, and I leant down to tuck a lock of her chestnut hair behind her ear.

“I’m fine, I promise.” The lump in my throat told a different story, but it didn’t overwhelm me. Yet. I still had the whole day with Rose before I could retire to my bed and cry into the darkness.


~


“Rise and shine, honey!” I kissed Rose on the lips and her eyelids fluttered open. It was another day- Saturday, I think, I lose track of the days- and a new day to spend with Rose. We exchanged smiles, and I opened the curtains to let sunlight filter into the room. I tried to ignore the fact she struggled to move her lips at all.

“I’m just going to top up your feeding tube, is that okay love?”

She nodded at me just slightly, too tired to use her machine to talk. I reached across her and pulled the tubes towards me, disconnecting them and refilling the pouches. Today’s breakfast was liquid glucose and wheat. It moved along the tube in tiny doses, just enough to trickle down Rose’s throat. She was unable to take solid food anymore; she said she couldn’t move her jaw well enough to chew.

“Is it okay if we watch a movie today? I feel tired.” It was impossible, but even the robotic voice sounded weary to me.

“Sure, whatever you want.” I reached out and patted her head gently. Her warm brown eyes squinted up at me. Maybe she still needed more sleep.

“Go downstairs and choose one then!”

I laughed at her eagerness and walked out, plodding down the stairs. Only when I reached the kitchen did I realise how hungry I was. I never did have enough time to look after myself anymore. I even avoided mirrors now, scared to see how thin I had become. Clothes that had been so tight a year ago hung loosely at the sleeves and the waist these days.
Reaching the living room, I rooted through the cupboards. Quickly I found Rose’s favourite movie, and grinned to myself. We hadn’t watched it in months and I knew she would enjoy it. Oh, it had been a while since we had seen The Lion King…

“Why is Scar so mean?” Rose said, faking grumpiness. It was February, and Rose still had a voice to call her own. We sat side by side in the living room, the curtains drawn and the movie in action. Rose was ecstatic; she didn’t seem to understand the sad side to the story and just giggled to herself every minute or so. We had to stop every half an hour so I could put drops in her eyes- the constant glare of the television caused them to become sore. She never complained once, though, as I tipped her head back to let the drops fall in.

“I love you, Mummy.” My heart swelled when I heard her, and I smiled proudly down at my beautiful daughter.

Rose didn’t speak again for the rest of the day. That was the last time I ever heard her voice.

Sniffing, I stood up and made my way back upstairs. Half-way up I remembered her eye drops and trundled back to the kitchen, DVD clutched tightly in my hand. The pitter patter of raindrops on the conservatory told me the weather had changed.

“Rose, I got The Lion King, your favourite!” I called as I walked through her door. Immediately I hushed, however; she had fallen asleep again, her eyes shut tight. Creeping out, I planned to let her have a few hours sleep but then remembered she was due her medicine now anyway. Smiling, I walked back into her bedroom and bent down to kiss Rose gently on the lips.

She didn’t wake at first, so I stroked her hair. “Come on, sleepyhead!” No response.
Alarm bells were ringing in my head, but I refused to listen to them.

“Come on, sweetheart, Rose, it’s time to wake up now!” I took her hand in mine and gripped it firmly.

For the first time that day, my smile faltered. “Rose..?” I whispered, clutching at her fingers.

She was turning cold.

The room seemed to lurch. My heart was thudding, my mind refusing to comprehend the situation. With shaking hands I knelt by her bed, and took her face in my hands.

“Rose, come on, wake up. Mummy’s here, everything is going to be oka-” I choked up in one instant, and the tears came full force. Everything was spinning; spinning and turning and lurching. With blurry vision I stroked her cheeks, my beautiful baby’s cheeks. My beautiful Rose, the flower of my life. My only child.

“But you can’t…Rose, please wake up for Mummy…we haven’t watched the movie…” I was breathing heavily now, shaking with sobs.

“It-It’s your… your favourite…” My voice faded, weak. Outside the rain was thundering down, but I barely registered it.

My Rose was dead.