fragment:9000contestsinkingotter-9

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    --grey: 166, 166, 166;
    --very-dark-grey: 38, 38, 38;

    --header-title: "The thoughts of a Rose";
    --header-subtitle: "A glimpse into the mind of a woman trapped by two plants";
    --logo-image: url(" ");

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:root {
--grey: 166, 166, 166;
--very-dark-grey: 38, 38, 38;

--header-title: "The thoughts of a Rose";
--header-subtitle: "A glimpse into the mind of a woman trapped by two plants";
--logo-image: url(" ");

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#page-title{
display:none;
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[[/module]]

This place that I've found myself in is odd.

Perhaps odd is not the right word, but it's the only one that comes to mind. Odd is a word that might be seen as an insult, a word that others the subject it's used to describe. But in this instance, this descriptor is nothing less than a sincere compliment.

My life is not what I expected it to be. When I was young and the world seemed pure and endless, I had dreamed a thousand lives for myself. None of these dreams came true. Nothing I wanted came true.

It wasn't completely my fault. Things happened that I never expected, and in some instances, never deserved. Death, disease and the thrashings of a world that seems determined to end itself. Combined, these elements changed me, hurt me and in some ways, killed me. They made me pursue a life that was stable and safe. It had what I needed to survive and nothing more.

But I chose to change, to escape and fight for the life I've always wanted. It's a hard fight, but I can't be anyone but myself anymore.

The Skullflowers are stuck in a debate about what to make next as I think about myself and the promise I made to them. My eyes are closed and my thoughts far away, but I can hear them chatter. Their voices are lighter than last time, united in a way. For now, at least, they've left their argument behind them and are trying to make something perfect.

They'll never succeed, though. It's not for a lack of trying, nor because they cannot think of an infinite number of document versions to create. It's because nothing was wrong with the document at the start. I was the problem for beginning the pursuit of my dream life too late.

In some ways, I wasn't wrong. I am no longer as young as I once was. Time has passed that I'll never get back. And there are many skills and tricks I have yet to master. But for the first time, I think that all doesn't matter.

So what if I'm behind? So what if I'm older than my colleagues? Who cares if some idiot judges me for finally doing what I've always dreamed I would?

My document may be terrible. It may be flawed in ways I can't even see, and maybe it'll need to be rewritten or burned and banished to the depths of the abyss. And maybe no one except a few doctors eager to read about reality bending flowers will ever look at it. But that's ok.

I'm here, I'm doing something I never thought I would. And most importantly, I've finally found the courage to forgive myself for being late.

Skelly and Skully listen intently as I tell them everything. They knew, deep down, how I really felt. How I don't know, perhaps they really can detect lies, or more likely, they saw the signs of a woman who was once again lying to herself.

The screen flickers, and my original document reappears. It's a wonderful thing to see. It's mine, really mine. I made it, and no matter its quality, nothing can change that. It is, in its failures and perfections, one piece in my journey to a happy, regret-free life.

‘We finally have it, Rose,’ says Skelly. ‘The perfect document has been found.’

‘Indeed, our work is at an end,’ Skully adds.

I nod. ‘So it is.’

Skully slowly surveys the lab. His journey holts when he faces me. ‘I guess we need to put everything back then.’

‘Yeah, I guess we do,’ Skelly agrees.

My screen reappears at my feet, marking the end of our journey together. It would be easy to walk out of the lab and raise the alarm, to pretend I didn't care about the flowers in front of me. I'm sure my employers would prefer this approach. But I can't do that.

‘Skelly? Skully?’

‘Yes, Rose?’ the Skullflowers ask in unison.

‘Thank you both for helping me, my friends. I owe you so, so much.’

Their leaves turn the deepest red I've seen them. They begin to speak, but their words are cut off by the sound of the lab's newly restored wall partially collapsing. As the rubble settles and the dust clears, a figure comes into view. It's Doctor Ashburn with his afternoon coffee in hand and a look of shock on his face.

[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-9618/offset/10|‘Hi, I'm Skelly! Have you seen Rose's document yet? She made it herself!’]]]

fragment:9000contestsinkingotter-9

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