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The Clone

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Her petals; smooth, heart-shaped petals, the color of the approaching evening. Injected oranges, reds and whites to appear as if you were truly gazing into the sunset
My petals; yellow, only yellow. The color was caked with pollen, and the texture almost translucent with age.
She was made to replace me, genetically engineered to be the most striking, fragrant, and magnificent rose in the nursery. The plain yellow pigments of my petals were nothing compared to hers.
She was trimmed nearly everyday, her buds sent off to bring a smile to a wife's face or ensure hope upon the faces of the sick.
My blooms were left to fall, upon the cold, hard garden grounds. To be stepped upon by animals and nibbled at by rabbits. Another piece of my self-esteem was lost each time a petal was left to fall.
And oh, how she loved to mock me! Her beautiful face coiled up in a sneer. The witch! As one her flowers was cut, one of mine was abandoned.
I was a feeble, shy little plant, while she prospered and bloomed with confidence. Her pride swelling every time someone stopped to photograph her.
If I could sob and wail like the girl who was being dragged away from her stunning petals, I would.
But alas; day after day her flowers were taken and her heart danced with happiness. I was the first to notice it. There were too many thorns and leaves compared to her remaining roses. Soon, she would vanish completely! But they kept clipping, clawing at her beauty, everyone desperate to possess a piece of it. But soon, there was none to be taken.
The greenhouse felt lonely without her to sneer and mock me. I found myself longing for my superior, my greater. No, not for my superior, for my equal. For my twin and my clone. She'd become a part of me.
Attention was returned to me eventually, after the first few days of her absence. Her fans and gawkers stumbled upon me as they left the now empty plot where she once stood. A little girl approached me, her head bobbing with tiny waves and curls. She looked curiously at the roses that had fallen to the ground. She bent over and gently cupped one in her hands. They tiny bud blushed from being handled so carefully.
"I like you the best." She smiled, skipping away with her new companion. Even when the beautiful roses next door came back in bloom, she never paid them a glance. She skipped straight to me, scooped up a fallen flower and skipped back to where she'd came.
I was mocked no more by the rose next door.
Afterall, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.





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