Fiction: Idle Days

The Flower Vendor On The Pont Des Arts, Paris by Victor Gabriel Gilbert

She has some beauty. Smooth hands. Pretty lips. Large vivid eyes. Or so some people has said. But she doesn't know for sure. Once, a man has complimented on her beauty but then he was trying to impression the lady beside him. There has been a few more like him but they never stuck around long enough to know her.
    Her days has been quiescent, full of idle moments. She sells her flowers and keeps time but she is never certain why. What is time when you have few moments of possibilities? Now and then, hope appears but never blooms.
    In a reflection here and there, she sometimes glimpses a different version of herself. Someone without beauty, without hope. She is a reminder of what will never pass. And yet, this mirage keeps her whole, keeps her from straying.
    Some days, she would think perhaps someone will come and will take her home and cherished her. And others days, she wanders through the streets looking at everything and finding nothing.
    Years ago, she had made a deal with some unknown being. The promise of long life and good health in exchange for her soul. At first, all is well. She hasn't had to worry about getting sick or hurt but then time slipped on and she began to feel the gloom that comes with living a long life and being alone. So she waited. And waited.
    Here she still waits with her flowers and her health. Alone. Here she must stay and wait for the end.

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