Days later, the work done, he walked into the room and found her gazing at the technicoloured field.
Row upon row of tulips in every available colour, as far as the eye could see.
He had hoped to make her happy, but she was close to tears and did not look at him as he entered the room.
“This was real once. Can you imagine that?”
He reached out to touch her shoulder, offer some comfort but she flinched and turned away from him.
He looked at the field and tried to imagine it. Not just the colour, but the smell, the movement. Real flowers would have swayed in the breeze. He knew that much.
But it was like trying to imagine the world when you are no longer in it. Impossible.