A sweet, little girl named Angelina lived in my neighborhood for five years. She had never gave me any headaches but recently I have been under constant annoyance due her. I don’t know how she got this habit of plucking my honeysuckle every day from the garden.
My backyard had a small garden with a bunch of roses, lined up marigolds and in which lilies swam across the pond. Last year, a honeysuckle had grown at on the front wall of my house.
Angelina used to come around six when I usually woke up from my peaceful sleep. I always saw her through my blurred vision detaching my beloved blooms I had stitched with love.
One day, I caught her, scold and rebuked her until I had gushed out all my frustration. But all my efforts went to waste. Angelina continued to pluck out the last flower of the plant. The very next day, I followed her, sneaking and padding that she couldn’t notice. I was taken to a small broken hut next to the graveyard.
An ill cat was inside, laid on a leaf bed over a wooden plank. It drank milk from a bowl. Angelina probably was the smuggler of the milk and I finally knew why her family was complaining about the milk they had been losing into nowhere.
She put the flower near the pale and almost lifeless cat. The cat purred as she did. “Get well soon,” Angelina patted on the cat’s head, “this is the last flower from your favorite honeysuckle, I will bring some other flower tomorrow,” she said.
Then, I left. The next day, I woke up early and made a small bouquet of roses, marigolds and lilies and placed it on my doorstep for Angelina.
I waited long for her but she didn’t come. The regular routine of Angelina broke. It was little curious so I revisited the old hut again.
Angelina sat crying outside the hut and tears were dripping from her red, swollen face over the dead cat’s head. The milk spilled over the road and my rotten honeysuckle dipped in it.
She patted the cat many times but that didn’t help, she even picked one flower and placed it near the cat but the cat didn’t purr.
Slowly with heavy feet, I went and sat next to Angelina, hiding bouquet behind my back. She wept, her voice had a tone of complaining to the gods. Giving her some courage, I took the lifeless cat from her lap and buried it in the graveyard. As a last goodbye, we both put the bouquet over the body. The bunch of those flowers had roses, marigolds and lilies but no honeysuckle…