The Heart's Downfall

hanahaki disease; a fictional disease,where the victim regurgitates and coughs up flower petals when they suffer from unrequited love.

The all to familiar taste of flower petals coated his mouth. It was all he could think about, that and colors, it always came in pains. Jasmine and Lilies he tasted at first, love and innocence, white and yellow, silky and pastel. This he could deal with, if gave him some sort of hope, stupid and blind hope but hope nonetheless. The petals cascaded through his mouth, out his lips, soft as a lover's shy embrace. He relaxed, he was fine. That was until his body was filled with the strong scent of a Green Willow. Green, black and brown was all he could see as he stumbled to the bathroom, everything too vivid and too dull at the same time. He made it to the sink just in time, the long strands of the willow worked their way up how throat, scratching drawing red red red. He wheezed the first few leaves out along with blood. Too much blood, too much pain. His eyes went up to the mirror, to the distorted image of his bloodshot eyes and grey tears, red spots of blood and leaves scattered around his mouth and chest. He kept hacking and coughing leaves out as he desperately tried to remember the soft colors, the soft petals. Hope. The memories didn't come straight to him, instead they stayed at the back of his mind mocking him and telling him how stupid he was for believing that he was going to be loved back. Through his haze he heard hurried and muffled footsteps approaching. The door swung open open revealing the cause of his suffering. Silky and inky black hair framing brown doe eyes and lips as pink as a dahlia. The teasing colors and petals returned to him, once more he relaxed as reds turned to white, the greens to soft yellow hues. The other boy kneeled and took the suffering boy's head into his hands. The boy melted into the embrace, he was going to be fine as long as they are together. Along with that thought came a sharp pain in his chest, his lungs, his whole body. He tried to calm the growing pain and panic and coughs to no avail. Veratrum, a white flower accompanied by the bitter taste of a yellow flower, Ragwort, began to fall from his lips. Poison, of course it would be poison in the deadliest of way. The flowers carried them self beautifully, with and air of innocence and how pretty they looked as they pilled up on the cold floor. He wanted to grab the other boy and tell him to end this, he's the cure but the other boy couldn't, wouldn't. He could only watch as his best friend slowly and painfully died surrounded by flowers caused by him.