Come Up Roses

Doesn’t the apartment building blush a lovely pink at sunrise? My day’s work is coming to an end as the tenants sleep.

That’s Mrs. Dawson’s apartment. Her husband probably forgot they’ve been married fifteen years today. She and he both will appreciate this bouquet of roses on the doorstep.

Poor old widow Hopkins on the first floor is still recovering from her hip replacement. She’s always loved daylilies, and these are vibrant dreamsicle.

Morning, Suzy! First day of school? The florist didn’t have peonies, but how about this lovely daisy?

The other tenants think of me, if at all, as the old man from upstairs. A minor character in their life story, unnoticed amid the turmoil of modern society. But like these anonymous floral gifts I give whenever my pension income permits, I like to imagine I brighten their lives in my own little way.

Written for Flash! Friday vol. 3-36, but written as a more positive twist on the tales of obsession, jealousy, and new money inspired by the weekly prompt: The Great Gatsby.


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