Gwenfrewi Rhiannon Meririd Amherst

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     Gwenfrewi Rhiannon Meririd Amherst was not proud of many things.  For instance, she was not proud of her name.  Do you have any idea how shameful it is to have to try to fit Gwenfrewi Rhiannon Meririd on a nametag?  In such events, she allowed her name to slowly deteriorate to Gwen, though when her mother was alive, the family still called her Gwenfrewi Rhiannon Meririd upon many occasions, and although Gwen would never tell, it pleased her to hear that many syllables dedicated to her.  Eleven, if she counts her last name (which she does, every time).
     Just out of school and free to work full-time at the biodome, Gwen gladly accepted the extra shifts, as interested in the study of life as anyone could be.  She spent long, late hours delicately nursing withering plants, fighting off spider mites, and quenching the thirst of deep roots. It was much easier to care for dying things that didn't talk back.  Gwen enjoyed pretending they all loved her and appreciated her toil.  With a bitter, sad smile, she remembered the last months with her mother, and placed her hands on her knees as she leaned down, reminding herself that daydreaming at work is tiring.  Pondering whether it would be called a daymare or a day-nightmare, she picked the spray-hose back up and continued watering the thirsty saplings.
     "Gwenfrewi?" a voice called from behind Gwen.  She turned around, lifting her elbow to shield her eyes from the sun, to the smiling face of her boss, Liz Beth.  Liz Beth had a pretty name.  A pretty, American name.
     "Daydream much?" Liz Beth asked.  Gwen let a little laugh escape her lips and nodded.  "Just a little," she replied, placing the spray-hose carefully on the ground for a moment.
     Liz Beth surveyed the area around Gwen.  "Sure do like them grey petunias, eh, sweetheart?"  Gwen looked about, realizing she had wandered back to the same area, and blushed shyly.  "Yeah... I just like them, I guess."  She shrugged slightly, her shoulders bobbing, and thought hard about the real reason she was unconsciously attracted to the petunias.  "My mother used to grow grey petunias, you know," she mentioned casually.
     "Oh, really?" Liz Beth countered nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow.
     "Yeah.  They were really pretty...," Gwen's voice trailed off.
     "It's okay, darlin', I'll let you get back to work," Liz Beth gave a sweet smile and walked back to the biodome office.
     Gwen sighed, blinking back a couple pesky tears.  It's been six years, Gwen, get over it, she told herself sternly.
     /In what place but your dreams do butterflies flutter in the winds of blizzards?/
     "What?" Gwen shook her head.  She was tired, and her mind was getting ahead of her again.  She mumbled incoherently and began absently curling the spray-hose in a quaint pile in the corner of this particular floral corner of the biodome.  "It's been a long, long day..."

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     Gwenfrewi Rhiannon Meririd Amherst woke up in a cold sweat, goosebumps invading her skin and nightmares encapsulating her mind.  How can you have a nightmare about butterflies? she asked herself profoundly.
     Rubbing her eyes, she glanced over at the old grandfather clock across the room.  It boasted a clear four o'clock in the morning.  Gwen groaned faintly and rolled out of bed.  "Freakin'...dreams," she muttered, stumbling to the kitchen and clumsily pouring a cup of water.
     Sipping groggily out of the glass, Gwen closed her eyes sharply and pictured her mother, sitting beside her patch of grey petunias in the back of the apartment.  Those damn petunias would always grow, no matter what kind of awful soil was dug up around there.  It was a real God-given miracle, and the only thing mother had in the last six months of her life.
     Gwen flinched and turned her head away from the mental image, but couldn't escape it.  "Mother..."
     This grown woman, sitting cross-legged in flowers all day... She sat in the garden and prodded the petunias with the spade.  Flash forward a month.  She kneeled there with scissors, carefully slitting each petal.  Meticulously, she drove the petals to fringe.  Another three months.  The petals lie in ruins.  So does she.  Tools askew, hair matted, sprawled and wallowing in the dirt and worms.
     "But that was how you lived.  Wallowing in dirt and worms," Gwen spat.
     /In what place but your dreams do butterflies flutter in the winds of blizzards?/
     "Get out of my head!" she screamed to her mother.  A light flickered on.  "Gwenfrewi Rhiannon, dear, what are you doing awake?" her father asked.
     /Cerilene?  Marita?/
     "No!  Not even close!  That's not my name!  Can't you remember my name?!" Gwen cried, dropping to the floor, glass shattering against the peeling yellowed linoleum.  "It's just a dream, Gwen.  Calm down."

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     "Where am I?"
     "You're at the hospital, Gwenfrewi."
     "What for?"
     "You're sick."
     "How long?"
     "How long what?"
     "How long have I been sick?"
     A sigh.  Hesitance.  "Two years."
     Another pause.  "Like mamma?"
     "Yeah."
     "She didn't know.  Do I know?"
     "I tell you every day."
     "How old am I?"
     "Forty-one."
     "Not eighteen?"
     "No."
     "What about Liz Beth?"
     "Who?"
     "My boss.  At the biodome."
     "Gwenfrewi..."
     "What?"
     "She's been dead for ten years."
     "What?"
     "Go to sleep, Gwenfrewi."
     "Dead?!  Why didn't anyone tell me?!"
     "We have told you, Gwen, every day for-"
     "GET ME OUT OF HERE!!"
     "Gwen, we're going to have to sedate you if you don't -"
     "I DON'T BELONG HERE!!"
     "Shh... now hold still, the doctors are just giving you a nice shot..."
     "I DON'T WANT A SHOT!  I WANNA GO HOME!  WHERE'S MAMMA?"
     Another pause.  "Catering to her petunias.  Did she ever tell you the story of the year the butterflies came in the snowstorm?"
     "DON'T TELL ME THAT STORY!  SHE'D TELL ME THAT TO CALM ME DOWN BUT... but.. b.b..bb...."

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     Gwenfrewi Rhiannon Meririd Amherst was not proud of many things.  For instance, she was not proud of her name.  Do you have any idea how shameful it is to wake up and not be able to remember your full name?  In such events, she allowed her name to slowly deteriorate to Gwen, though when her mother was alive, the family still called her Gwenfrewi Rhiannon Meririd upon many occasions, and although Gwen would never tell, it pleased her to hear that many syllables dedicated to her.  Eleven, if she counted her last name.  Which she did, every time.

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     "Please make it stop.  I don't want to live like some autistic child, put me on meds, make it stop, make the dreams stop, make the nightmares stop, please, I know it's not real now, please-"

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     "Gwenfrewi?  You still in the grey petunias?  Don't you think the other plants need some water, too?" Liz Beth joked, her stomach jiggling with every chuckle.  "Yeah, yeah," Gwen answered shyly, "I'll get on it."  
     "Okay, dear.  Just wanted to make sure you're all right," Liz Beth turned and headed back towards the biodome office.
     Gwen sighed, blinking back a couple pesky tears.  It's been six years, Gwen, get over it, she told herself sternly.

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     /In what place but your dreams do butterflies flutter in the winds of blizzards?/