Another three stories today.
Butterfly Glass
She held gossamer dreams of meadow grass and violets, of dancing butterflies past a window pane smeared with tiny fingerprints. Beating hopes of giggles and tousled hair, of long, exploratory walks, of glee and wonder and chasing ephemera. Wishes cast to the wind to see paper boats sailing down a stream, released from chubby, jam-stained fingers. Plans and aspirations, all wrapped in sweet ideals and a candy-coated family.
Vanished now with time, buried under the ruins. Lost in a fading sunset of disappointment and unfulfilled longings, and the unending pain of cracked sorrow viewed through the broken glass of life.
Paper Flowers
A paper posy of faded lilac flowers sits by the window, while outside, butterflies wing towards the sky. She smiles, wishing to fly on wings of her own, to soar to the clouds and be free. Beside her, one of the machines beeps and she turns her head, watching the drip, drip of the IV fill her veins.
Not much longer now.
Death is her shadow, the haunting ghost that chases her as she fights. She knows she is losing, but she will not let go. Not until she is ready.
For all the lilac flowers she will never see.
Yesterday Remains
Abandoned and overgrown, the old cottage sat at the edge of a wild woodland, relegated to years of neglect and the haunted spectres of memories that lingered around its edges of ivy and violets. If you knew it once, the magic remained, delighted laughter still echoed in the kitchen when the moonlight hit the window pane, or the faint strains of poetry drifted off into the morning sun. Special memories of its wonder held in certain hearts, treasures wrapped in smiles, written words scrawled in ink, and one dried violet pressed in a book and christened with a first kiss…
Be Afraid of the Dark 
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