The Bloody Carnation

The September wind carried the lingering heat of late summer, but it held no warmth against my face. I gripped the shiny certificate stamped with 'Outstanding Role Model Freshman,' my knuckles white from holding it so tight. The street scenes outside the bus window sped by, like the fleeting glimmers of light I've never been able to catch in these eighteen years. When the bus stopped, I took a deep breath, carefully folded the certificate, and slipped it into the inner pocket of my canvas bag. It was my first time away from home, staying in the dormitory. After two weeks of physical training, I longed for the break—not because I missed home, but because I wanted to personally hand this honor to my father. The leaves of the plane tree at the doorstep were scattered all over the ground, their withered yellow forms spinning in the wind. I stepped on the fallen leaves as I walked forward, each step brimming with hope. I raised my hand and knocked on the door, which opened quickly—it was Father. He wore a faded gray T-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. When he saw me, his eyes brightened, and he reached out to take the backpack off my shoulder. But his hand froze in midair as he quickly glanced toward the living room. The sharp clatter of Mahjong tiles came from there, the sound steady and relentless. No doubt, Windy Scott was inside. "You're home." Father's voice was low, laced with cautious warmth. This is the only warmth I can hold onto in this house, like a tiny spark in the dead of winter, yet it's always snuffed out the moment Windy Scott appears. He reached out to brush the stray hairs from my forehead, his fingertips brushing my sunburned, hot skin before quickly pulling back. "Was the physical training tough? You're a lot more tanned." I smiled and shook my head, then pulled the certificate from my canvas bag, running my fingers over the gold-embossed letters, my voice full of hope: "Dad, look, I got the Outstanding Role Model award. The teacher said only five students in the entire department earned it." The cover of the certificate was embossed with the university's school badge, faintly gleaming in the sunlight. Dad took the certificate, running his fingers over the university's name on the cover again and again. The smile at the corner of his mouth was about to spill over, and the wrinkles around his eyes gathered tightly: "Our Bella is truly impressive, way better than I ever was." At last, he lifted his hand and gently patted my head. The warmth of his palm passed through my hair, making my nose sting and my eyes fill with tears in an instant. But that warmth lasted only two seconds before the sound of mahjong in the living room suddenly stopped with a loud crash.