Rabbit, Soldier, Angel, Thief - by Katrina Nannestad

She reaches for the flowers, but I grab the wilted bouquet and hold it as far away from her as I can. ‘Yes,’ says Doctor Orlova. ‘The flowers are very important. I can see that. I won’t try to touch them again, I promise.’ I stare at her and return the flowers to my lap. We sit in silence for a long time. At last, Doctor Orlova speaks. ‘Would you like to tell me about the flowers, Sasha?’ I blink at her. I nod. I open my mouth, but still I cannot speak. It’s not just the flowers that are important. There’s more. I take the piece of frayed rope and sit it gently beside the flowers. I frown. I pick up the rope, tie a knot in it, then sit it back down. That’s better. I peer at all the other things arranged on the end of my bed. Twelve matchboxes. Twelve! It’s a lot, yet I still feel the need for more. I gather them up and sit them in my lap. I choose one and open it. It’s full of ashes. Ashes that I put there. All the matchboxes are full of ashes. My skin creeps. I don’t know if I want to do this. But then my eyes settle on the ushanka, the fur hat with the ear flaps. I take it gently in my hands and stroke the thick, soft fur. And I smile for the first time in months. Flowers.

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