Fallen Flowers Monologue

Fallen Flowers

Not the flower petals again. This isn’t fair. Must I be tortured constantly by the simplest of things?
Those flower petals littered the entire path, as if pointing the way. They were all I saw now, but before, I would run, taking no notice. Though significantly less confident now than I was as a child, a voice in the distance, some sort of faint cry like that of a siren, said, “Here we go. You ready for this? You won’t fail again, right?” The last part made me shudder. It was right in my ears that the shrieking voice was now whispering. Maybe it was the emphasis on certain words or maybe it was how much I didn’t want to fail, but it kept me going.
Flowers, flower petals. The people were all fallen flowers. The flowers by the graves of those people had come to life to haunt me now. Burning trees and ash everywhere, I’d reached a small cliff, a little gap. Ignoring the flowers for a split second, closing my eyes, I jumped.
The flowers on the other side were trying to get me to join them. I felt my gun in my hand. . . . No. It doesn’t work that way, I scolded. If I am to get killed, I’ll get killed, but I won’t be the one to chase my deadly fate.
“How far can you go,” the voice screeched, “on this hopeless fantasy alone? They’ve all failed. You think you can succeed? They woke from that fantasy too late. They’ve gotten