There is a little girl in a flowery sundress who is giggling and skipping through a field.
The little girl decided to make a flower crown.
She picked each flower carefully, and she examined each silk petal.
Her eyes squinting with excitement as she wove the stems together.
When she was finished she looked at the crown for a long time.
She decided that it wasn't very good.
She hated it.
She dug a hole and put the very special wilted flowers back where she found them.
She dug and dug and patted with her little fingers until the dirt was stuck in her nails.
She tried to make the little plants stand up straight again.
She couldnt.
She kept digging until she could fit in the hole quite nicely.
She reburied herself, scooting the soft dirt onto herself as she stood in the hole slowly inhaling the gritty powder.
Once she was completely buried she struggled to push her hand out of the ground.
She barely held the beautifully weak flowers just above the dirt.
The flowers needed to be beautiful again. Sacrificing herself was the only way that she could think of to make them feel normal one last time.
She was running out of air.
One breath in.
Her hand wavered as she gripped harshly onto the green stems.
One breath out.
The delicate flowers and small dirt stained fingernails slowly relaxed and layed down in the dirt to rest.
No breath in.
This was dark and twisted and I don't know what it means but it just came to me and so I wrote it.