Maybe I should stop putting so many pictures in my entries all the time. You know, like spread them out a little more. So we're supposed to write a short story for Lit Trad. Baldwin wants a 'vivid scene' by tomorrow--not the whole story, but just a 'vivid scene'. So...this is my 'vivid scene'. I don't know how vivid it is, but it's good enough for now. Astrid slowly walked into her apartment. She did not look back. Her whole body was stiff and tense as she closed the door resoundingly behind her and locked it. “Did that just happen?” she said to herself. Her green eyes became wide as she began to think about what Scott had just said to her. She was angry and scared; angry because he acted like the year and a half they spent together didn’t matter and scared because she lost one of the most important things in her life. She took off her jacket and put it, dripping wet, on the back of the couch as she walked past it in the dark. She noticed the bottoms of her pants were also wet, but that was only a fleeting thought. She did not think of changing her clothes, nor did she think of drying or warming herself. Walking through the dark hallway, she silently passed the closed door of her roommate’s room. Once in her own room, Astrid shut the door and stood in the dark with her soul coming out of her eyes in the form of salty tears. She felt overwhelmed. She knew she was in the first stages of heartbreak, but did not know what to do. She had never experienced the tumultuous feelings that washed upon her by the second. She breathed and tried to calm herself, brushing the tears from her cheeks as she quietly searched for the light switch on the wall. When the lights were on in her room, she went to her desk, sat down, put her head on the surface, and sighed. Her muscles relaxed. Automatically, the conversation rushed through her head again as she recalled the sadness of Scott’s eyes, the reluctance of his tone. “There were no warning signs at all,” she whispered as she lifted her head, confused. Her eyes landed on a small, clear, plastic cup. In this cup were forty-seven dried rose petals, one for each flower Scott had given her. Because she was sentimental, she had kept a single petal as a remembrance of the rose. He had given her flowers since the very beginning of their relationship, and, in her mind, the petals stood for his early, strong, and constant devotion he had for her. Astrid took the cup in her hands and began to pour the petals out onto her desk, gently shaking her head and smiling. He was so gallant and charming, and though she could not remember the occasion for all the flowers, she did remember the look he had when he would give them to her. It was a look of joy—joy at her happiness. He had always tried his best to make Astrid happy, whether it was through giving her flowers or singing to her from the street. Her thoughts meandered through fond memories the two of them had, memories of winter roses and spring roses. As she played with the petals, gently fingering the delicate things, she thought, “If I meant as much to Scott if these petals mean to me, he would never have let me go. He did this to be just to make me hurt. He did it out of spite.” She suddenly started and sat up straight in her chair, surprised at what just passed through her mind. What proof did she have that Scott was malicious and wanted to purposely hurt her? “No,” she said, shaking her head, “I’m not going to fall into self-pity. Scott is an intelligent man, and he knows what’s best for him. He didn’t do it to be mean to me—that’s childish thinking. Be sensible about this, Astrid.” As she said this, she heard a stirring in the hallway and knew that Olivia was awake and was probably on her way to see her. Astrid quickly tried to place all the petals back in their cup before Olivia arrived. There was a quiet pattering on the door, and Astrid, after fumbling to put the cup back in its place, turned around, blushing. “Liv, what are you doing up?” Olivia shuffled through the door and blinked at the lights. She was in her robe and her slippers with a glass of water in her hand. Her short hair was disheveled and she squinted behind her glasses. “I just wanted to say hello,” she said as she padded softly towards Astrid. “How was the evening?” Astrid told the story dully. “No wonder your clothes are wet! Astrid, you have to change out of them before you get sick.” “No, I’m fine.” Olivia strode to her roommate, set the glass down on the desk, put her arms around Astrid’s shoulders, and rested her chin upon the crown of her head. She said seriously, “Astrid, you can cry with me if you have to. Scott must be insane for letting you go—you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.” “Thank you, Liv,” Astrid said, drawing away from the embrace, “but I just need time to sort things out.” “Of course,” said Olivia with a look of understanding. “If you need anything at all, you know you can always talk to me.” She smiled, and Astrid nodded and smiled back. Olivia left the room, softly shutting the door behind her. Astrid heaved a heavy sigh and walked to her closet. She changed into her sleep clothes, bundled up her wet things, and threw them into her laundry basket. She was angry at herself for being weak, for being influenced out of reason by her emotions. If Scott wanted to be apart from her, then she must accept that and move on. But she had never before been so crushed.