The Traumatic Life of a Wildflower

June 9, 2011
By ChristinaCanalizo PLATINUM, Ormond Beach, Florida
ChristinaCanalizo PLATINUM, Ormond Beach, Florida
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Delightful rays of sunshine illuminated the earth. With Abundant doses of water, light, and air spurring on the growth of my seed, I finally reached the surface and glimpsed out at a peculiar new world.
All of a sudden, a glob of gooey liquid nearly knocked off my petals. Nearby flowers snickered at my discomfort. The source, a massive bundle of golden fluff, dashed past me. He distributed more saliva during his pursuit of a flying disk. Meanwhile, the cool, sticky substance dripped down my stem. I cringed with embarrassment.
This would not be my only encounter with suffering; an omen, perhaps, but not my last torment. Several days passed without a whisper of approaching misery, until the air hummed with the melody of an unfamiliar tune.
I heard the buzzing moments before the sun’s rays started to filter through the twilight. The sound swelled across the field, louder and louder. Just as the sun burst over the horizon, a mob of unwelcome visitors appeared. Their black and yellow stripes dazzled me. They were inescapable. Suddenly, they seized my petals and striped me bare of my pollen.
Oh, my dear, sweet pollen, destined to grow into the most angelic flowers mankind has ever witnessed, only to be stolen from me by those flying demons.
The bees terrorized me. They shattered my illusion of safety. They left me with no strength to support my self against a breeze that now felt mightier than the whipping winds of a thunderstorm in the Atlantic.
I wept in agony. Like a mother who lost her child before his first breath, I began to feel hopeless. Next spring, I reminded myself, next spring I will try again.
That is, if I live to see next spring.
Perhaps, in a past life, I pilfered lollipops from toddlers. That could explain why life takes such terrific pleasure in torturing me. I didn’t have much time to recover before a new evil appeared in the form of a giant metal monster.
It occurred one sunny, seemingly-ordinary day. A man wheeled out onto the field a shiny metal contraption. I observed the man with mild interest as he yanked on a rope and the contraption sputtered to life. It began to devour the field in whichever direction the man pushed. To my horror, the man directed the monster to the patch of flowers that I inhabited.
The monster steadily approached an unsuspecting sunflower. She laughed at the passing clouds as we frantically called out a warning. To no avail, the monster snatched her and flung her into the air. Her smiling disembodied head plopped beside me. Now, I trembled.
Jagged metal sliced through the field, beheading the daffodils and executing the dandelions. They screamed for mercy and cried out their final prayers. The merciless monster choked and grumbled. He roared with satisfaction. A feast worthy of a god’s appetite lay before him.
Quivering at the edge of his plate, I envisioned the monster flossing my stem out of his fangs. I nearly fainted from the stench of gasoline. His shadow hovered over me as, inch by inch, he advanced towards me.
I could now observe the individual blades slicing in a criss-cross pattern overhead. The jostling momentum of the rust-speckled razors thrust pockets of air into my face. I closed my eyes, unable to face my executioner.
“Come on! Don’t give out on me now!” the man cried as the machine started to choke and sputter, “@#$%! Dang machine. Nothing but a useless hunk of metal.”
The blades receded from my throat. As the man wheeled the monster back into its cave, I allowed myself to breath again.
I survived. Thank Mother Nature, I survived.
I reveled in my incredible luck as I watched a pretty girl in a sundress frolic through the field. Her carefree nature soothed me back into a state of peace. I would not die today. I survived the dog. I survived the bees. I survived the lawn mower. Surely nature could grant me a moment of peace.
The youthful girl meandered over my way. She possessed lovely blue eyes, an easy smile, and a gentle touch. Occasionally, she bent down and caressed a sunflower or a dandelion and commented on its beauty.
“Oh, aren’t you a pretty little flower?” she commented to Mr. Tulip.
“My, what a lovely shade of orange,” she blessed Mrs. Daffodil.
Finally, she crouched down beside me.
“Ooo, your petals are so soft, softer than velvet.” She complemented me. I beamed with pride. Many flowers envied my velvety petals.
“In fact, you’re perfect,” she tugged.
“You match all of the colors in my dress today,” she squeezed a little harder. I gasped for air.
“Please, please stop.” I choked. My plea left unanswered, she started to violently tug on my stem. Frustrated, she ripped me right out of my roots. My vision started to fade. Life drained like water out of my body. A flower cannot survive without access to its roots. I needed to get back to my roots. I needed water. I needed…..
Thoughts became difficult to focus on. The sunlight slowly dimmed to deeper shades of grey.
“Now my outfit is complete.” The little girl hummed merrily to herself.

The author's comments:
This is told from the viewpoint of the wildflower.

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