Rabbit, Soldier, Angel, Thief - by Katrina Nannestad

foolish.’ She withdraws the bouquet, pressing it to her chest. She stands, smiles and begins to walk away.

‘Please,’ I whisper. The doctor stops.

‘Please,’ I say little louder, my voice sounding strange and rough after not being used for so long. ‘I would like the flowers very much.’

I hold the flowers for the rest of the day. I brush them across my cheeks. I smell them. I poke at their petals, softly, lovingly, first with my little finger, then with my pointer. They’re so pretty. So special. And not just because they’re a gift from Doctor Orlova, or because they’ve survived the bombings and the Battle of Berlin. There’s something else that makes them special. If only I could remember. ‘Pretty flowers,’ says Nurse Sophie when she brings my soup. I don’t answer, but I eat with the flowers clutched in my free hand. ‘Pretty flowers,’ says Nurse Irena when she arrives to change the dressings on my head and chest and legs. I don’t answer, but I keep hold of the flowers. Irena tells me all about her village in Siberia and how the donkeys hate it when her papa plays the accordion, but

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