The Wither Flower: The Last Scent of a Dying Hour

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a dim, blood-red hue over the abandoned garden. Once full of vibrant life, the flowers now stood withered, their petals curling in on themselves like secrets long kept. Among them, a single white blossom stood eerily untouched by the decay surrounding it. Its beauty was undeniable, yet there was something unsettling about it—something out of place. Jenna knelt beside the flower, her fingers brushing the fragile petals. She could feel the pulse of something ancient beneath the soft surface, a force that whispered of things unsaid, of time that had been lost and forgotten. The air around her was thick, laden with the scent of something dying. Yet, the flower—though it withered at its edges—remained in full bloom, its scent a sweet contradiction to the rot of the garden. Her grandmother had warned her of this place, told her that the garden was cursed, that it held the last traces of life in a world already slipping away. Jenna never understood until now, until she found herself standing at the edge of the unknown, a place where the past refused to die and the future remained a whisper. As the breeze shifted, a strange sensation crept up her spine. There was someone—or something—watching her. She turned, but the garden was as still as death. Her heart raced, and for the first time in years, Jenna felt a deep, unshakable fear. The flower’s scent deepened, thickening in the air, pulling her in. Something was calling her. And she couldn’t resist. --- She woke up from the dream again, her breath shallow, her heart pounding. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the window. Jenna’s eyes darted around, trying to shake the sense of disorientation that clung to her like fog. She could still smell the sweet decay of the garden, hear the whispering of the wind, feel the pull of the flower. But it was just a dream. Or was it? For weeks now, Jenna had been haunted by the same vision—of the withering garden, the lone flower, and the woman. She couldn't see the woman's face, but the figure was always there, standing just beyond her reach, as if she were waiting for Jenna to step closer. Every time she woke, the air felt heavier, the dream more real. But it was just a dream. Or was it? For weeks now, Jenna had been haunted by the same vision—of the withering garden, the lone flower, and the woman. She couldn't see the woman's face, but the figure was always there, standing just beyond her reach, as if she were waiting for Jenna to step closer. Every time she woke, the air felt heavier, the dream more real. Jenna rubbed her temples, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered. This woman, this presence, felt too familiar, like someone she had known long ago but had forgotten. The strangest part was that, in the dream, Jenna had felt a connection to her, a bond that went beyond the garden and the flower. It was like they were bound by something deeper, something tied to the past, to a truth she wasn't ready to face. Her hands trembled as she reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, but it wasn't enough to calm the unease creeping up her spine. Something was happening—something she couldn’t explain. And with each passing night, the woman seemed to be calling her closer. Jenna sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands, still feeling the lingering touch of the dream. The woman, the garden, the flower... they were all too real. She could almost hear the whispers of the wind in her ears, could almost smell the sweet decay of the petals in the air. It was as if the line between her dreams and reality was beginning to blur. She glanced over at her phone, the cold screen reflecting back her anxious face. It was past midnight now. No one would be awake to talk to her, not that she could explain any of this to them anyway. Who would believe her? The visions, the dreams, the woman—everything felt like it belonged to another world, a world she didn’t belong to but was inexplicably drawn to. Then, the thought hit her again—the garden. The flower. The strange, unyielding pull she felt toward it. What if it wasn’t just a dream? What if there was something more to it? Something waiting for her in that place, something she needed to uncover. Her grandmother’s warnings echoed in her mind, but she dismissed them as superstition. Or had she? “Get a grip, Jenna,” she muttered under her breath, standing up and pacing around the room. But even as the words left her mouth, she felt a deep sense of foreboding settle in her chest. The woman in the dream... the more she thought about it, the more Jenna realized that she wasn’t just a stranger. There was something so familiar about her presence. Something that made Jenna feel like she had known her her whole life. But how could that be? She couldn’t even see her face, only the outline of her figure standing in the shadows, her voice like an echo in the distance. Jenna sat back down, her mind racing. She couldn’t let this go. She couldn’t ignore the feeling that there was a connection between her and the garden—between her and the woman in her dreams. There was a reason she kept seeing her, a reason the visions wouldn’t stop. It was only when the wind howled through the cracks in the window that she realized she wasn’t alone. A soft sound—almost like a whisper—slipped through the air. It was faint at first, barely audible, but it was there. Like a voice, beckoning her. A voice she knew all too well. "Come find me," it whispered. Jenna shook her head, trying to clear the lingering fog of the dream. "It’s just a dream," she whispered to herself, standing up and heading to the bathroom. The cold splash of water on her face helped anchor her back to reality. The strange, unsettling vision still tugged at the edges of her mind, but she refused to give in to it. It had been years since the nightmares and memories of her childhood had controlled her. She had spent so long running from the darkness that sometimes it felt like she was running out of breath. The scars, both physical and emotional, had never truly healed. But she had built a life for herself—one she could control. She checked the clock. It was almost time for class, and she had a busy day ahead. Between university lectures, her growing lip gloss brand, and keeping up with her boyfriend, there was no room for distractions. She couldn’t afford to be pulled back into a dream world that had no place in her life now. Jenna dressed quickly, grabbing her things and glancing at the small vanity where she kept her lip gloss products. It had started as a hobby, something to keep her mind occupied during rough times, but now her brand was slowly gaining momentum. A small victory in a world that had given her very few. She pulled her hair into a messy bun and applied a touch of her own gloss to her lips before stepping out.