The Life of Some Flowers

She was a flower.
Deep lips that smiled like petals reaching for the sun. Bright eyes that called for attention, a dance inside her, like she was forever twirling in the winds of time.
She spent hours basking in the sunlight, reaching up, she reached for it in joyful desperation.
Yet the storm too was her friend.
It’s heavenly drops beading on her skin, feeling it.
She felt the promise of flourishing in the sun.
Growth waiting for her in the rain.
Each cleansing her soul, making her feel whole.
She was a flower.
Beautiful, and made to be admired.
How they admired her.
One, too much.
Greedy eyes watched the flower. They watched her as she flourished in the warm rays of the sun, watched as she grew in the rain.
Watched, with a greedy possessiveness that made him long for her.
That beautiful flower.
Some flowers are too beautiful, not only does the sight of them call to those weak and with the ingredients of evil lurking inside them, but it’s the beauty of their soul that lights like a beacon.
Calling, to the dark troubled souls of the lonely sailor.
Beautiful flower.
She lives her life with arms open, blowing wild in the breeze, always shining, it was so easy for him to pick her. To pluck her from this place in the world and move her from the gentle rays of the sun, and the refreshing drops of the rain.
In the shallow waters of a glass vase, she beats angry hands on the walls of her prison. On the filth of waters that could never compare to a passionate rain, broken rays of sun trying to push through a dusty window, reaching, looking for her.
That beautiful flower.
And he watched, as he always had.
Watches as the brightness in her turned dim, her petals wilting under the conditions of her imprisonment, her soul… dying.
A flower plucked from her place in the earth she could not exist no longer.
Anger filled him at the sight of his beautiful flower, not longer shining as beautiful as she was for him. He lashed out, ripping petals from her, throwing her to the floor in a rage.
What a selfish flower, he thought as he cast her outside, like trash.
Broken, with petals falling and her breath coming too short, she lay on the ground. Cast out of her prison, but unable to go on. He had kept her for too long.
On shaky limbs, she tried to reach for the sun, wish for the rain.
It did naught.
A single thick tear rolls from her as she falls to the floor in nothingness.
Sadness filled the sky as the sun could do nothing to flourish her, lightning cracked across the sky, a harsh rain stronger than ever before fell to the earth in hopes that it could add life to a wilted flower.
The storm raged on, and it was the sun’s turn once more to try to stir the beautiful flower.
Such a beautiful flower she was.
So much time had passed, and she felt nothing for the sun, nothing in the rain as she stumbled through life broken. The bright little petals of the dandelion turning to the soul-less white feather petals that could blow away at the slightest breeze.
Poor flower, too beautiful to go un-noticed. The world to selfish to leave her be, to admire the beauty without tarnishing it.
Wrapping her arms around herself she tried not to curl up and die and she wanted, and walked on, aimlessly.
She walked until she couldn’t any longer.
Wrapped in a cloak of darkness.
She walked, feeling more like a weed than the flower she had lived as for all her life.
She was a weed, she thought.
Suddenly, she felt the cool breeze on her face, the kiss of a single teardrop on her cheek.
Clouds parting, she pushed up, through the crack she felt she had fallen through, and suddenly felt the sun on her skin.
Felt the warmth as it began to slowly flourish her, after the rain had cleansed her and given her what she needed to grow.
Pushing up from the crack, she reached for it, begging for what she needed.
That flower blooming once more.
It would take time, but she would once again be the flower she was, stronger and more beautiful than she could ever hope.
She would feel the promise of flourishing in the sun.
Hope for growth waiting for her in the rain.
Each cleansing her soul, making her feel whole.
She was a flower.

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