Rabbit, Soldier, Angel, Thief - by Katrina Nannestad

I open my mouth and lean forward, just a tiny bit. Maybe a centimetre. I want to touch the cornflowers, but I can’t make myself move any further. I can’t get my hands to shift or reach or stretch. ‘The garden was so very beautiful,’ says the doctor, ‘that I sat down on a broken step and laughed. Really laughed. It was joy, you see.’ I do see. I do! ‘How wonderful,’ she sighs, ‘that these delicate blooms have survived the destruction of war.’ She closes her eyes and falls silent. I don’t take my eyes off the flowers. I want to reach out and touch them. Yellow marigolds. Pink and white daisies. Blue, blue cornflowers. The doctor’s eyes flick open and she smiles. ‘And they made me think of you, Sasha. So I picked some and here they are.’ She holds out the bouquet, but my hands stay by my side, resting on the blanket, fingers curled shut, even though I want to take it. I am desperate to hold the flowers, to touch them and sniff them and feel their petals tickling the tip of my nose. I am hungry to own them, to keep them. I long for the flowers like I longed for the feathers from Sergeant Stepanov’s pillow. Doctor Orlova sighs and her shoulders droop. ‘But maybe you are not one for flowers. Forgive me, Sasha. It was

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