Between the lands of burnt red ash sands and the cold bitten snow powdered mountains, was
a land perfect as can be, the perfect in between. It was filled with luscious green emerald
valleys and sun kissed golden leaves, skies clearer than the bluest seas. In this land lived an
old lady who took pride in the most splendid of flowers she grew. Though, she was especially
fond of two species: the Ruvia plant and the Sladia.
The first was a fragile, brittle flower with the most graceful of vivid red petals. The red it held
was said to be so rich and beautiful, one could cure their sadness just by perceiving the flower.
Yet , in addition to needing an immense amount of care, the plant had quite a problem. It would
only blossom in spring, later become brown and twisted throughout the rest of the year. During
this period, its roots would sometimes strangle the other plants, massacring many species,
though the old lady did not care. She found that the two months it blossomed were worth the
arduous maintenance.
The second plant the gardner took the greatest of prides on, was actually a vegetable,a bright
blue nutriment. Its blue plump body would reflect fantastically under the sun and it had an
impressive ability. When one was to bite into the juicy food, it could either grant the deepest of
desires or poison the mouths of those who dared. For this reason, the plant was wanted all over
the land. Everyone wanted to test their fate and bite into the Sladias.
One day, while racking the soils of her plantations, and watering her many many crops, the
lady had a brilliant idea. What if she were to mix her two favorite species. It would make for the
most spectacular of hybrids, she thought. Enthusiastic, she quickly rushed to work on her new
mission. After days and days of twisting the roots of both species together, a new plant had
finally blossomed.
Upon the first glance of her creation, the lady started to weep. Never, in her many years, had
she seen anything quite so beautiful. The design was surely breathtaken. She had fabricated a
magnificent black flower, whose darkness mirrored the everlasting void present in her heart. It
was nature’s gentle smile, a burst of fragile beauty, nature,colour and scent, all in one. It was
simply perfect.
The rich presence of the flower made her think about her dead husband.That is to say, the
scent of its petals was a bitter sweet reminder of her lost love. Her longing for her late husband
had long echoed through her loneliness, and heavily weighed upon her chest. Thus, she began
to love the flower even more, not wanting to lose her love once more. Craving the sentiment of
reassurance, that filled the echoing walls of her mind in its view.
Only, the creation of this had actually resulted in not only one but two plants. The second was
not at all like the first, It was white. Lighter than the softest of heavens and purer than the
kindest of souls. Yet the lady didn't even bother to look twice at the second bloom. She was too
mesmerised by the first. In fact she was so distracted by it that she did not notice that its roots
were boiling with the deadliest of poisons. A simple whiff of the incurable toxin would incinerateany sign of life. And when she found out she simply did not care, for Grief had hollowed her out,
leaving only a fragile, aching shell that only the black flower's beauty seemed to fill.
As days passed, both flowers grew and grew. Every morning, the woman would come down
to her garden to water her special creations. Although, pretty quickly she noticed that the black
flower would slowly demand more and more hydration. Instead of finding more water, she
immediately decided to give it some of the water meant for the white flower. As a result, the
latter began to slowly wither away. And what did the woman think about this? Nothing at all!
She was too focused on the black one to even notice the perplexing growing issue.
Every day, with the extra water, the blackflowers' deadly roots grew like thick vines travelling
many, many miles under the soil of the entire garden poisoning all her other plants. In fact, they
grew so far they had rather swiftly reached the ground of a small town situated near where the
old lady lived. Quickly the mortal toxin spread from the earth to all the crops the village had
been growing. When the village began to eat their carrots, potatoes, apples, any plant at all,
they began to drop dead. More and more deaths rapidly spread. The news began to be
broadcasted in tv’s all over the globe. The simple flower had caused a worldwide treacherous
pandemic.
Eventually, the old lady figured out the cause of such a catastrophe was her own most prized
possession. Yet instead of cutting the flower and putting an end to such a massacre, the lady
only took more and more care of it. The black flower’s beauty had become her siren, luring her
deeper and deeper into the darkness.Her obsession had become a devouring flame, a
maelstrom that consumed her soul, blocking her rational thinking. She had truly been blinded by
the beauty and fragrance of the thick black petals that she was unbothered by the chaos they
wreaked.
Instead, she would just watch as more and more bodies collapsed as she continued to
harvest the flower. She had convinced herself that eventually the deaths would just cease and
everything would come back to normality. She just couldn’t bear to see all her hard work
destroyed, she couldn’t. Second by second as the roots expanded over the countries, more
populations perished and she didn’t care at all. Her love for the plant had truly rendered her
blind. As the venom continued to spread and the final human fell like the rest , she didn’t quite
care at all; she was perfectly content so long as her plant remained to blossom. She couldn't
escape the thought that the black flower's presence was a bittersweet solace, a reminder of
what she had lost, yet a fleeting comfort in her loneliness. Thus, she remained obsessively
caring for her creation.
In time, the flower grew so much that, against pure logic, its petals spread like wildfire
expanding to the point of encompassing the old lady and suffocating her too, rendering it the
only living thing existing. The woman had been so indifferent to the problem, completely
controlled by her love and obsession over the plant, that she had single handedly caused the
end of life on our planet as a whole. As she drew her last breath her mind was filled with only
one thought: if only she had cut the plant before it was too late. Her obsession was aslow-burning fire that had eventually consumed her, fueled by the memory of her dead
husband's gentle touch.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 10:09 AM UTC
As she glides down the aisle, shadows of her past converge,
Memories of anguish and sorrow's relentless surge.
The weight of isolation, the ache of emptiness,
Would soon dissolve, replaced by love's gentle caress.
Tears and pain, once constants, would become a distant past,
A fleeting memory, eclipsed by love that would last.
In his arms, she'd find solace, a haven from her fears,
A gentle soul to listen, to wipe away her tears.
Yet, instead of serenity, panic seized her heart,
A dread of surrendering to love's redeeming start.
She clung to the familiar pangs of sorrow and strife,
Afraid to release the joy that threatened her fragile life.
Like whispers of a summer breeze, her smiles had always fled,
Leaving her with echoes of a long-forgotten thread.
But now, with love's promise, her heart should have soared,
Not trembled with the ghosts of love she'd never explored.
Instead of embracing liberation, she fled the altar's might,
Her footsteps echoing his cries, a haunting, desperate plight.
Nov 9, 2024
Nov 9, 2024 at 9:50 AM UTC
THE DOLL OF POCELAIN SKIN:
There once was a doll of porcelain skin
Born in a world of malicious intent
Fair, graceful and kind she was to her kin
Yet cruel pain was all she got in extent
Though as righteous as she seemed she was not
For scars lay under her porcelain skin
Yes, deep ugly scars of torture and rot
That tainted her smiles in angst and sin
The ache was so bad she let the mask slip
and let them see the face that lied within
The hideous visage that was bound to tip
The truth that would break her porcelain skin
They called her vicious and asked why she changed
When the facade was all she disaranged
Nov 8, 2024
Nov 8, 2024 at 5:54 PM UTC