The main character of this story is a FLORIST (man)

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Every good story has exciting STORY LINE (plot), interesting CHARACTERS, gripping DIALOGUES and eyecatching DESCRIPTIONS.

Chapter1- Portugal

 Chapter 2- Greece

Chapter 3- Latvia

Chapter 4 France

 

STORY 2

In a cold and cloudy morning, they arrived. The loud sound of boots marching in the streets woke everyone in the town that morning and large military machines followed them. They were shouting and provoking us in a language that i couldn’t understand, but i could see the hatred in their eyes. Not long after that, we were ordered to follow alongside them, like we were trash. They wanted to gather all the civilians in front of the city council so that everyone would acknowledge the new leader and forget the old one that had surrendered. Without any other choice we did whatever pleased them, but still it wasn’t enough. They took everything and what they didn’t need and seemed worthless to them, they destroyed just to cause agony. In the end, few things were still standing up. They destroyed everything but one thing. It was May and the flowers had already grown. A beautiful mix of green, red, yellow and white remained like nothing had happened. Instead of mourning and crying, I’d go there just to be joyful once more, to forget the cruel world outside. The year was 1940, in a french town close to our invader, Germany, and it was there where my love for flowers begun, a way to escape the real world.

Every year after that, i longed for the spring, just to see them again. I spent hours in that field just contemplating their beautiful colors. I was happy, although the situation would forces us the other way. I was 4 years old, but i remember that day like it was yesterday. After 5 years, the war ended with the german defeat, but my love did not. That field was still a way to hide myself from society, from bullying to even problems in my own house.

 

Chapter 2

(By Maro Papandrikopoulou and Elisabeth Kontou - GR)

 

I kept going there. For a long time, I kept sitting at the field just by myself. My classmates made fun of me, but it didn’t really bother me. When I was 16, we moved to Paris. It was beautiful and there were flowers everywhere. I kept seeing flowergirls on the streets and I was almost jealous of them. One day, I asked one of them how I could start working as a flowerboy. She went by the name Celia. She said that I should find a field, collect flowers and I should just start selling them. The next afternoon, right after school, I was out with a basket of flowers in my hands. I was excited but also incredibly nervous. I stayed on the streets for 6 hours, with no food or drink. Nobody bought my flowers. Celia was a few meters away from me and people kept coming and going for her flowers, but nobody came to me. The following day, I went back. Nothing. A week went by and all I got were a few angry stares and a couple of . In the next couple of weeks, I managed to sell a fair amount of flowers, but not as many as the flowergirls around me. One night, after about three months, I had just finished my shift when three men came around the corner and started hitting me. They were saying I was a and just kept punching me until I blacked out. The next morning, I woke up on the street, covered in dried blood. Celia hadn’t come in for work yet. I got up and I could feel the embarrassment weighing me down. I took my basket and went home. I still remember how badly my father yelled at me that day. He kept shouting about how I had not defended myself like a man would have. About how I was selling flowers instead of doing a real man’s job. About how he would be able to pay for my studies without me making a fool out of myself on the streets. he said. Only after he was done yelling did my mother cautiously approach me with a wet towel. As she was taking care of my wounds, she told me that she had been trying to convince my father that I wasn’t behaving like a girl, but that I simply wasn’t like the other boys my age. My father just wouldn’t understand. I went to bed that night, thinking about everything that had happened in the last three months. For the next month or so, the only time I got out of the house was to go to school. Then straight back home. I was only 16 and I was terrified. I didn’t touch a flower for two years. Then, about two months before my 18th birthday, I heard a knock on my door. It was Celia. I was very happy to see her again. She came in and after talking for a while, she told me that she had opened a flower shop, but she had to leave the country for a few months. She asked me if I could run the flower shop for the time she was away. I didn’t know what to do.

 

Chapter 3 (by Mārtiņš Rudzāts & Mārcis Kļaviņš- LV)

 

It took me no time and I decided that I will do it for her. A day before she left she took me to her shop  and gave me an instruction on how to sell flowers, bouquets and other things florists make. I must say I was worried about all of this since in the past people haven’t been very kind to me. But Celia was my friend one of the rare ones I had. This could also be a perfect opportunity to experience my passion- the flowers. As soon as she left I started working and changing things. The flower bouquets, that I made, contained different types of flowers of different colours. Multiple bouquets were meant for different situations and feelings. I could finally show everyone what I could do with the flowers. some artists may use paint,others notes ,some even sand, but I, I prefer flowers my great passion, of course I could use other things. I could get things that would enchant my work, but I like flowers more it’s part of the art to make things closer to my heart.

  The first weeks were quite slow not many people showed up at the shop and during this time I was making my art. After the first week of experiments with bouquets I was finally ready to put my creations out in the open. And to my surprise people liked them and for the next couple of weeks people started coming and buying more of my flower bouquets I started earning more and more money but that didn’t really matter to me. All that really mattered was that people stopped looking at me strangely or really mind my passion, they even started to like my products and one other thing that made me happier was that I could work with passion and love  not anger and duty to work for work, I felt free. I finally remembered that feeling from all those years ago when I first found that flower field. For a time I was once again happy, and after Celia came back from here trip she was amazed with what did I do to her shop and suggested  me to stay and work in this shop and this, THIS changed my world- I became a different person-a happy one.

 

CHAPTER 4 (by Manon Cuinet)

After Celia’s visit at my home, I remained for a few days in my room for many days thinking about my future: on the one hand, I did not really know what to do, I knew that if I pursued my dream, I would have to tell my parents and my father would get angry again, but on the other hand,  if I decided to listen to my father and therefore do a male job, I know very well that I would be unhappy all my life. So I decided to talk to my mother who is much more understanding than my father. My mother, who only wanted me to be happy, advised me to listen to my heart and fight to achieve my dream. That is why I decided to listen to my mother and I  became the manager of the Celia’s flower shop when she was not in.

I was overjoyed, I was doing the job of my dreams and people got used to the fact that the florist was a man, customers accepted me, many were surprised at first but naturally they were satisfied by my work. That was so great!. However, I could not tell my father , I was afraid of his reaction.

One day, my father, walked past the store. He saw me working there. He became furious, he entered the shop, ordered me to stop working as a florist immediately if not, he would asked me to leave home. I was devastated and I did not want to be on the street. So I immediately called my mother who told me that she would talk to my father but that in no case should I leave the house, let alone stop my job. In the evening when I got home, I went directly to my room; my parents were arguing about my father's visit that morning to the store. My mother told him that he was really intolerant and that if he kept talking to me that way and threatening me, he would have to leave the house. On the next morning,  my father came to wake me up to talk to me. He told me he regretted everything he said and did to me, he told me that he had not thought about it but that what he was concerned about was my happiness. He even told me for the first time in my life that he loved me and was very proud of me. From that day on, I have never been so happy; my father comes to see me every day at the store before going to work.