A long long time ago, so long ago that I can’t remember when, I responded to a writing prompt about writing in the perspective of a flower. I’ve been seeing a whole lot of posts about spring lately, and that seemed like the perfect time to bring it up.
Daisy they call me. Is that my name? Do I have a name? I can’t remember ever being known as anything but daisy.
“Daisy it is, then,” I reassure myself as I stretch my toes in the cool, moist soil.
I close my eyes and turn my face into the sun. It is high in the sky. I can feel it’s warmth begin to toast me. I smile joyfully.
“This is the life,” I think.
I stayed like that, face turned to the warm sun wiggling my toes in the gooey mud around me. It felt like the afternoon must have surely passed right by me, but when I looked around it was as if no time had passed at all.
I heard the sliding of the door. There would be some commotion around the yard, now. The littlest one always toddled around and landed with a splat in the grass. The little girl would drag him to his feet with an impatient, come on, and the mother would offer a gentle reminder that he was just a baby.
I closed my eyes again. The sun was comforting and familiar. The scene about to play out had played out many times before.
“This one,” said the girl; sounding awfully close.
I opened one eye. She stood above me, pointing right at me. Oh what could this be about. I wish she’d just move on and let me get back to my sun basking.
“Are you sure?“
That was the father. The children loved it when their father came to the yard to play. No work today he would promise as he tumbled around in the grass with them.
He wasn’t tumbling in the yard, now. He was standing behind the girl, his large frame blocking out the traces of light that shone around her smaller one.
“I’m sure,” she assured him.
“Once I clip it, there’s no going back,” he warned.
I didn’t like the sound of that warning. I trembled with fear. I curled my toes in and tried to close my petals around my face. What was the father holding in his hand?
He knelt down in front of me and gently took hold of my stem. The girl was now standing behind him.
“Careful,” she warned. “Don’t break it.”
“I’m being careful,” he growled gently as he jostled me to and fro.
“Woah, woah, woah,” I pleaded for him to be a lot more careful.
He acted as though he couldn’t hear me. I screamed with all of my might, but my tiny voice was lost to his human ears.
I heard a sound. A sound that I have no words to describe. Two pieces of metal singing the letter Q in perfect harmony.
I was thinking about that letter Q when I realized I couldn’t feel my toes anymore. My toes that I recently recalled curling in mud.
I was floating through the air in some kind of daze. The father passing me off to the girl. She held me in her pudgy little hands. Her baby brother was trying to get ahold of me, too.
“No. Babies are too stupid to carry the flowers,” she spat meanly at him.
“There’s no need for that,” the father chastised as she tightened her grip on me and raised me towards the sun.
The sun felt colder somehow. It was dimmer, too. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me.
“Well, he is stupid,” she assured him. “That’s why he can’t go to school, yet. Molly McCreary told me so.“
“Molly McCreary’s stupid,” the father muttered under his breath.
He lifted the baby into his arms.
“Come on, son. You can help Daddy with the breakfast,” he promised.
The girl’s grip tightened more. I was terrified my beautiful head was going to pop right off.
“Careful, now,” the father reminded and her grip loosened just a little.
Once inside, the trio set about preparing the breakfast. I was unceremoniously dropped on the counter. I lay there on my side, unable to stand or roll over on my own.
The girl returned and picked me up. She dropped me in a small crystal vase full of freezing cold water. I screamed and squealed and begged to be removed from this torture chamber. Again my please went unheard.
She set me down on the corner of a tray laden with food. Soon I was flopping around in my small vase getting glimpses of the house as we passed quickly from room to room.
I caught a glimpse of window and yearned for the warm morning sun that had awoken me what felt like ages ago, now.
“Get the door for Daddy.”
“I GOT IT!!” shouted the girl.
She shoved open the door and the father carried the tray. I wondered if I was about to be eaten along with the foods on the tray. I wondered what the water was meant to do. I held my breath.
“Mommy, Mommy. Wake up. We’ve got food,” shouted the girl.
“Mommy. Food,” mimicked the baby.
“Is it my birthday?” she asked in confusion.
“Nope,” answered the girl.
“No,” mimicked the baby.
“Stop that,” whined the girl as she pushed the baby.
The baby hit the floor and started crying. The father picked him up and began patting his bottom.
“Mother’s Day?” the mother asked next.
“Stop it,” she whined and pinched the baby’s chubby leg.
“Then to what do I owe this honor,” the mother asked through gritted teeth.
“Wasn’t my idea,” said the father.
“You wouldn’t be spectin it if it’s not one of those days.“
The biggest smile spread across the girl’s face. The mother smiled back.
“It looks delicious,” she admitted. “But who’s going to help me eat all this food?“
“We all are,” shouted the girl as she leapt onto the bed.
My vase flew from the tray. I was airborne. I was halfway out of the vase. The water sloshed around me, soaking my petals and my face. I hit something soft. The vase rolled across me.
I couldn’t feel most of my petals anymore. The ones that I could feel felt mangled. My face felt smooshed. I could barely see anything.
I was scooped up, along with food bits that had also hit the bed. Together with the bits of garbage, I was deposited into a rubbage bin.
Write a short story or narrative from the perspective of a flower.
That’s it. Simple and easy. You can pick up anywhere in the flower’s life cycle. It can begin as a seed germinating in a cup and grown into a beautiful sunflower. Maybe it’s a single rose given to a lover or friend. It could be a flower living in a garden full of friends and family. How about a flower chilling out amongst a bouquet of flowers?
The possibilities are limitless. What are you waiting for? Go write yours.
I’d love to read yours, so when your writing is finished swing back here and post a link in the comments ↓↓ section ↓↓.
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