Original Fiction - Flowering
Original Fiction
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of death. Abstract little piece - try and make sense of it, heh.
Would appreciate if in your comments, you could just make a mention of what issue I'm trying to address here? Just want to see who gets it. Thanks! =)
Flowering
It’s never too late to try again.
That’s what I keep telling myself. But when it comes to relationships it’s different, isn’t it? Then it depends on whether the other will give you the time of day.
That’s what it’s like in life too. You can’t try again if you’re dead. If, because you were late once, you died - you couldn’t try and be on time anymore.
He reminds me of a flower sometimes. A small, fragile bud. A daisy, probably. A little weed, but tenacious. Wanting to grow up one day into a beautiful rose.
But that’s in fairy tales. Ugly ducklings grow up into swans. Daisies stay daisies. Die as daisies. They’ll never be anything else.
But then maybe he doesn’t want to be a rose. Maybe he wants to grow up to be a carnation, or a sunflower, or a freesia. Or maybe he’s happy as a daisy. He’s one of the few who would be capable of that.
Do daisies grow alone? I wouldn’t know. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen any that weren’t bathed in red. And then, I never saw them, only the withering grass. So who knows?
But as a daisy, he’s alone. There’s not even any grass near him. The bits of nourishment he gets aren’t enough.
Daisy’ll die soon.
Like a small boy’s voice on the breeze.
Like childhood.
Like hiding under the bed with the monsters living there. Side by side with reptilian eyes and scaly feet.
Because the winter outside is worse.
Daisy’ll die soon.
Because Daisy never knew how to live.
Because Daisy always tried to live.
Because Daisy hurt and didn’t know how to make the hurt stop. Didn’t know the hurt could stop.
Like the breath of a small boy on a winter gale.
Daisy’s dead now.
~fin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of death. Abstract little piece - try and make sense of it, heh.
Would appreciate if in your comments, you could just make a mention of what issue I'm trying to address here? Just want to see who gets it. Thanks! =)
Flowering
It’s never too late to try again.
That’s what I keep telling myself. But when it comes to relationships it’s different, isn’t it? Then it depends on whether the other will give you the time of day.
That’s what it’s like in life too. You can’t try again if you’re dead. If, because you were late once, you died - you couldn’t try and be on time anymore.
He reminds me of a flower sometimes. A small, fragile bud. A daisy, probably. A little weed, but tenacious. Wanting to grow up one day into a beautiful rose.
But that’s in fairy tales. Ugly ducklings grow up into swans. Daisies stay daisies. Die as daisies. They’ll never be anything else.
But then maybe he doesn’t want to be a rose. Maybe he wants to grow up to be a carnation, or a sunflower, or a freesia. Or maybe he’s happy as a daisy. He’s one of the few who would be capable of that.
Do daisies grow alone? I wouldn’t know. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen any that weren’t bathed in red. And then, I never saw them, only the withering grass. So who knows?
But as a daisy, he’s alone. There’s not even any grass near him. The bits of nourishment he gets aren’t enough.
Daisy’ll die soon.
Like a small boy’s voice on the breeze.
Like childhood.
Like hiding under the bed with the monsters living there. Side by side with reptilian eyes and scaly feet.
Because the winter outside is worse.
Daisy’ll die soon.
Because Daisy never knew how to live.
Because Daisy always tried to live.
Because Daisy hurt and didn’t know how to make the hurt stop. Didn’t know the hurt could stop.
Like the breath of a small boy on a winter gale.
Daisy’s dead now.
~fin