A Flowers Without Petals
This year had been a disappointment, if anything. Usually all of the flowers would bloom beautifully, but this year… all but one has reached their peak of life. It wasn’t surprising though, seeing as little to no effort had been invested into their life. Although, it wouldn’t have been too troublesome to have something in hand during the holiday to give to at least the nearest stranger in hopes of this legend coming true.
Too much effort had been sacrificed for this single day; perhaps another day these flowers will bloom and allow the world to see their ivory magnificence. What would one give to touch the velvety surface of its petals or to capture a whiff of nature’s loveliest perfume? At its best, this flower probably will bring to a man and woman together—that is, if they had at least a cinch of hope.
Of course, at this time in space, the flower is far from its best.
The core of such beauty was rotten yellow and its body, bare of its brilliant white petals. The stems drooped as though no sustenance was given to usher their growth. The horrendous aura that surrounded its withering body repelled any attraction that a bee or any other insects might have had for it. Today was the last day before the holiday; there was no other way for the blossom to get sunlight—unless it was possible to grow from the moon as a source of life.
The next morning, all but this single flower has been picked and given away to the desired mate of the former owner. All but one person has acquired the flowers; this person had been late—an hour, two hours, who knows how long? He could have gotten the right flower had he been early, but he wasn’t. So here he was, breathing heavily with his hands on his knee with his eyes fixed on the flower as though his concentration would somehow provide it enough substance to grow. There was no way she would accept such a flower; such an ugly blossom should have been picked and burned.
There was no time left though; he had to be at the square in an hour to see her and give her the flower before another offer comes along—not like it mattered anyway, any other flower would beat this one by a mile. Grudgingly, he picked the flower while mentally kicking himself. What else could go wrong beside this ominous drop of rain?
That could only mean one thing: he had to get there quick. Hopefully she would still be there and he would still be able to hand the flower to her and run away before the rain would further embarrass him with his inability to wake up on time on such an important day. Even his parents had stressed the significance of this day to finding his wife. He could only screw up so much; nothing else could go wrong, right?
With thirty minutes left until the holiday ended, it seemed like everything was against him. Somehow, everyone picked this year to find a significant other, thinking that the flowers would be lovely this year—and it has, every single one of them, except his. Fortunately for him, he had learned to pick her out from a crowd, a skill he had learned and mastered whenever ordered to go out and bring food home from either the market or the field. Pushing past the people and ignoring the cries of protests he had received for his crudeness, he finally reached her. Her pleasant expression seemed almost surprised to see his face.
This is it, he thought. Here he goes.
“Please take this!” he blurted, holding the broken stem in front of him and closing his eyes, hoping to block out any disgust that might have tainted her expressions.
After about a second of mere silence and no reaction, he moved to pull the flower back into his possession so that it would embarrass him no further. Instead, he felt soft cool hands shoot out to hold his own sweaty warm ones. Instead of a disgusted frown, a peaceful smile settled upon her lips while she gently took the flowers from him with one hand. With the other hand from behind her back, she took out a flower that was almost—no, it was entirely perfect. It was just as he had wanted in a flower: brilliantly white, velvety soft, and alluringly scented.
Instantly he felt ashamed of his gift for her. A flower without petals. Its imperfect state could no more signify his disrespect for her, at least it should seem in her eyes. Instead of rejecting his gift, she gave him the most perfect flower. Full of petals, scenty, and… blossomed.
With two simple words of thank you, she left, holding the dead blossom in her hands as though it had been the greatest gift she had gotten. He didn’t understand it. He would only believe it if she would be the one to bring life back to its lifeless form. He would only belief it if she had taken the gift because she really liked him.
Yes, that must be it.
Too much effort had been sacrificed for this single day; perhaps another day these flowers will bloom and allow the world to see their ivory magnificence. What would one give to touch the velvety surface of its petals or to capture a whiff of nature’s loveliest perfume? At its best, this flower probably will bring to a man and woman together—that is, if they had at least a cinch of hope.
Of course, at this time in space, the flower is far from its best.
The core of such beauty was rotten yellow and its body, bare of its brilliant white petals. The stems drooped as though no sustenance was given to usher their growth. The horrendous aura that surrounded its withering body repelled any attraction that a bee or any other insects might have had for it. Today was the last day before the holiday; there was no other way for the blossom to get sunlight—unless it was possible to grow from the moon as a source of life.
The next morning, all but this single flower has been picked and given away to the desired mate of the former owner. All but one person has acquired the flowers; this person had been late—an hour, two hours, who knows how long? He could have gotten the right flower had he been early, but he wasn’t. So here he was, breathing heavily with his hands on his knee with his eyes fixed on the flower as though his concentration would somehow provide it enough substance to grow. There was no way she would accept such a flower; such an ugly blossom should have been picked and burned.
There was no time left though; he had to be at the square in an hour to see her and give her the flower before another offer comes along—not like it mattered anyway, any other flower would beat this one by a mile. Grudgingly, he picked the flower while mentally kicking himself. What else could go wrong beside this ominous drop of rain?
That could only mean one thing: he had to get there quick. Hopefully she would still be there and he would still be able to hand the flower to her and run away before the rain would further embarrass him with his inability to wake up on time on such an important day. Even his parents had stressed the significance of this day to finding his wife. He could only screw up so much; nothing else could go wrong, right?
With thirty minutes left until the holiday ended, it seemed like everything was against him. Somehow, everyone picked this year to find a significant other, thinking that the flowers would be lovely this year—and it has, every single one of them, except his. Fortunately for him, he had learned to pick her out from a crowd, a skill he had learned and mastered whenever ordered to go out and bring food home from either the market or the field. Pushing past the people and ignoring the cries of protests he had received for his crudeness, he finally reached her. Her pleasant expression seemed almost surprised to see his face.
This is it, he thought. Here he goes.
“Please take this!” he blurted, holding the broken stem in front of him and closing his eyes, hoping to block out any disgust that might have tainted her expressions.
After about a second of mere silence and no reaction, he moved to pull the flower back into his possession so that it would embarrass him no further. Instead, he felt soft cool hands shoot out to hold his own sweaty warm ones. Instead of a disgusted frown, a peaceful smile settled upon her lips while she gently took the flowers from him with one hand. With the other hand from behind her back, she took out a flower that was almost—no, it was entirely perfect. It was just as he had wanted in a flower: brilliantly white, velvety soft, and alluringly scented.
Instantly he felt ashamed of his gift for her. A flower without petals. Its imperfect state could no more signify his disrespect for her, at least it should seem in her eyes. Instead of rejecting his gift, she gave him the most perfect flower. Full of petals, scenty, and… blossomed.
With two simple words of thank you, she left, holding the dead blossom in her hands as though it had been the greatest gift she had gotten. He didn’t understand it. He would only believe it if she would be the one to bring life back to its lifeless form. He would only belief it if she had taken the gift because she really liked him.
Yes, that must be it.