Childhood.

The curtain fell and all of the children filtered off the stage, bouquets in hand. I was empty handed. It was mostly just flower heads that had fallen but between my ballet shoes was a single rose. I picked it up, closed my eyes and imagined my mum presenting it to me. It was the best moment of my life. Then I opened my eyes. I knew that someone would come to clean up soon so I ran around the stage picking up all of the remains hoping to salvage a make-shift bouquet. It wouldn't be perfect but at least they wouldn't ask me why my mum hadn't gotten me flowers. I managed to collect a few flowers of different colours and sorts and stick some lone flower heads inbetween, all tied together by my ballet belt. When people asked, I swelled with pride and said that they were from my mum. I met my mum outside. She took one look at my creation and asked what I'd done that for. I told her as I told her every year that everyone on stage gets flowers from their parents and that flowers mean well done.

The next year, I was getting ready to go back on stage, flowerless, when I saw a huge bouquet on my table. I wandered over feeling nosey, peeked at the tag and there was my name...in my mum's handwriting! I paraded around the whole room so that everybody had seen before I stepped on stage with the biggest smile I had ever posessed. I met my mum outside the stage door and said thank you about ten times. She replied with "Well I didn't want people to think i'd given you that thing you were carrying around last year." The next year my table was empty.