Flowers of Winter

In the city, as Christmas songs echoed through the walls of the shopping centre, Roo weaved her way through the thick crowds of people. She nibbled on a reindeer gingerbread biscuit with a small red nose and sleepy smile. She had bags packed with Christmas presents, soap and chocolates for her mother, DVD’s for her father, an apron and chef’s hat for her little sister, new earring for friends. Yet she had found nothing for Ruskin. She spent another few hours after lunch searching for the perfect gift but came up empty handed.

It was only on her way to the car that she spotted a cute vintage store. She couldn’t resist taking a peek, anything with a real history excited her. It was at the back of the store that she spotted the typewriter, desperately waiting to be used again. Who had pressed their fingers to those key’s in the past? Ruskin would love it, he would wonder the same thing, imagining the kind of person that once owned it. Roo imagined him staying up late on Christmas night to compose beautiful words of love, words about Roo, his fingers touching the buttons as he did her skin.

At home she wrapped it up in gold wrapping paper and placed it beneath the Christmas tree. She couldn’t wait for his hands to tear at the paper and discover the beauty beneath.