Brooke was always a strange child. She loved the outdoors and spent all her time out there, but she always watched the garden. The neglected garden where plants grew wildly as they pleased, its wooden borders cracked and splintered by rain and weeds. If her parents cared to guess why she did this, they’d assume she was looking at bugs or whatever children tend to like. But they didn’t guess. They spent all their time inside, rarely seen like the night queen flower.

Brooke didn’t like going inside. It was dark and smelt funny, the air felt stuffy and cramped. She found it hard to breath, suffocating under the roof that blocked out light. Inside, she felt more alone. Her parents didn’t acknowledge her. Sometimes they even forgot she needed food. It was quite silly of them, forgetful mum and dad.

Brooke preferred the garden. With the small yellow flowers that grew despite the poor conditions, fighting other plants to reach the sun. Wherever there is the light, the flowers will find it. She saw herself in the dandelions—small and overlooked. They pushed through cracks of concrete or a neglected garden bed, reaching for the sun no matter the chances they had of reaching it.