Life of a Flower

    The air is crisp and cool as the fluorescent lights come on and the shop owner unlocks the door and opens for the day. A small breeze flows through the room behind her and rustles my leaves. The sunflowers beside me droop more as the weather cools. The once bright yellows browning and falling to the floor. Barely minutes after the shop sign is turned, the bells on the knob klang against each other. I straighten up and hope my scent follows the air to the guest. "Yes, I'm looking for something simple and unique." A man's voice. 

"Hmm, I have this rose bouquet?" The man shakes his head. "We could do a combination arrangement. Some blue forget-me-nots, eucalyptus maybe? With white Anemone and..." the owner looks around. Her gaze lands on me and I hope for a moment that this is it. The dance, the day of all days, the day I get chosen. "The purple hyacinth?" The man thinks for a minute then looks at her an nods. I feel glee swell through my stem and petals. I sway against my comrades as the florist picks up our vase and takes us to a cold table in the back of the shop. She gently pulls me and one other from our home and places us next to the bundle of flowers that would be our housemates. She wraps a ribbon around the clear vase before placing us inside. The lukewarm water hits and an unfamiliar taste of nutrients hits my senses. So many at once I wonder, if this is what humans call nausea. She hums and backs up to view her work before picking us up and handing us off to the gentleman. 

"Thank you." He says.

"Thank you I hope she likes them." It seems I would be meeting someone else and seeing two homes. More than many of my friends got to experience. The ride to the mans house is bumpy despite how closely he has his things wrapped around the vase. Finally we are taken inside a small apartment with brown walls and brown furniture. I wonder why he doesn't have any flowers of his own. He places us on a brown, plastic countertop and drops his bags beside us and leaves the room. He does not return until evening. He changes and roughly picks up the vase almost dropping us as he rushes out his door again.

Once again the car ride is bumpy but we finally arrive to a small, green house. A woman opens the door with a smile and he hands us to her. She gently takes the vase and examines us, her smile ever growing. "Thank you, they're beautiful!" Pride practically beams from my petals as she looks for a place to set us down. She ends up picking a small round table beside a window, "They'll get plenty of light here and I'll see them every time I pass through." She smiles at the man and they leave to another room. The air is full of spice here. In the morning the sun fills the room and warms us up with its rays. The girl looks at us as she said, every time she passes us. If I could smile, I know I would smile back. A week later the water begins to dry up and I feel my stem begin to ache. One of the forget-me-nots has already drooped the table.

The girl notices and picks us up. She removes the passed forget-me-not and gives us fresh water and puts us back at the table. Another week passes and she changes out water again. A large number of people pass by us today and each one comments on the beauty of our arrangement. Suddenly a small child runs into the table and the vase is knocked over and we all fall tot he floor. The girl rushes over and helps the child then picks us up and tries to salvage what she can. There are three of us left now. She puts us in a smaller vase and in a new window beside her bed. I look around and see the dried bodies of former flowers hanging along the walls. Part horror and part wonder fills me. Why must she have all these dead things in her room? She opens the door and is wrapping a cord around the bottom of the fallen flowers and hangs them up. "At least I can dry them and keep them this way." 

Day after day passes and the ache comes back to my stem but this time, its not because I need water. I feel tired and its hard to see the sun around me. The girl picks me up and clicks her tongue, "Aw man,  you were so pretty. I guess its time to hang you up before you lose your color." This must be it. is it really so quick? Life? Or is it just he life of flowers? Would I have been better off the in the floral shop? Maybe I would have lasted longer or is that just as cruel? I see a string being picked up and I feel it tightening around the end of my stem. I wish to groan but I can only hang as she leaves the room. Maybe this is the reason flowers are picked. A way for humans to hold onto love long after is gone. Can they hold onto feelings through us? I don't know. I feel my spirit begin to quiet as night falls and the last thing I see is the girl smiling at me one last time. "He really knows me doesn't he?" she brushes her finger across one of my petals and goes to bed.