The Living Flowers (Short Story)
By Ian Black

 The gentle evening sun, descending softly behind the oak and sycamore trees, leant an odd and entrancing glow to the emerald meadow now coming in to season. The sky and surrounding land found itself painted in the most beautiful blushing amber hue, and as the architect of light itself stole away to some unknown land, a new life was delivered to the meadow. This life was of a most mysterious and rare kind, having flown on some obscure wind and, perhaps by chance, found its home beneath the lone sakura tree; the jewel of the meadow. This rare and precious life was little but a seed, and yet it quickly thrived and, before long, became a flower, both timid and fair.

 As spring began to find its feet and the meadow, too, came into its beauty, a strange and wonderful visitor appeared in the distance. Merrily making her way towards the cherry tree, this outsider found herself at home amongst the beauty of the flowers in bloom more swiftly than any other. In fact, her very gaze seemed to lift the spirits of every living thing around. She moved like none before, with steps more akin to a graceful skip than a walk of purpose or solemnity. Her arms, too, moved with an individual elegance, slowly stretching out as if to greet the new, verdant world in which she, alone, seemed to belong. Beneath the tree, now in all its glory, blossoming for all to see with tender, silken bloom, the young woman found something to be out of place. Proud and alluring beneath the mighty sakura, a lone flower refused to blossom. Refused to show the world how beautiful it was made to be or, perhaps, knew not how.

 The girl sat beside the naïve flower and watched it remain still. In truth, it was her desire to entice life from its dormant state and, yet, nothing happened. She lay in the sunny, spring grass for hours on end, closing her eyes and resting in the shade; looking up from time to time to see the white, secluded flower, remaining still and infantile. With the night approaching, the girl gazed at her floral companion and wished silently for it to bloom, yet it remained as still as ever. The girl traced her finger across the bud and smiled, before softly sighing and ascending to her feet. Before she departed, the maiden of the flowers turned towards her new companion and made her vow. ‘Don’t worry. I’m like you, you see? And you don’t have to be alone’. As the same strange and wonderful visitor made her way back into the distance, fading, like the land itself, to the horizon, the pseudo-night of spring descended on the meadow. When the sun’s gaze turned away from that place, only one exotic flower stood, shaded and forlorn beneath the delicate cherry blossom. 

 The following afternoon, as the sun had once again begun its slow and gradual descent, a newly familiar figure appeared in the distance. Beneath the cherry tree, however, was not the lone flower as expected, but a new companion. A young man who was to find unparalleled grace in the flower of flowers. Turning towards the midday sun, this new companion caught a glimpse of white and tender life, blossoming before his eyes. The figure approached and feature by feature, the gravity of her beauty was revealed. Beneath the old sakura the boy sat, transfixed, in awe of this maiden. Without comprehension of how such a tender, pure bloom could be without ties to the earth, to walk and breathe and love. Her skin, like the whitest rose of eden, was enough to steal his heart and instil in him a yearning like no other. Her hair, the deepest and most pure ebony, held in place with a simple sapphire ribbon. Her lips themselves were a mirror to the process of his heart, the most profound and charming scarlet ever to honour the eyes of man, or so it seemed to him. Above all else, her beauty, her grace, her virtuous, loving nature was to be witnessed in her eyes. To say that no sea, nor sky had ever been more blue; to say that the sight of any mortal or god had never been set upon a tone more rich or deep; to say that grace had never before been carried as it was by those two angelic eyes would be to render all the beauty of heaven itself as little more than fleeting.

 Once again, the figure approached the tree, gracing every plant with her gaze as she passed, before that same gaze settled on a half empty bench beneath a cloud of blushing blossoms. Looking up, the boy questioned himself, trying to disguise his wonderment and confusion, trying to prove this beautiful dream as something more. The sun above lit her completely and yet in the softest, most intricate manner possible, as if the aura of amber-rose was a gift to her alone. Around her, the smallest of flowers and the grandest of trees united in their display; to him, now so much more alive than they had been just moments ago. He recognised those same angelic eyes, now honouring his own with their joyous gaze. Those small, yet striking lips widened into a delicate smile, before carefully issuing the words ‘do you mind if I sit here?’ The boy had no breath left with which to reply and so simply smiled and nodded sincerely.

 The pair remained silent for some time, cautiously looking around for fear of catching the other’s eye. In truth, the young lady used this time to gain some insight into the welcome stranger sitting next to her. In her mind, there was no accounting for the way he had watched her, the way he had taken to reverence as she approached. The sweet young maiden turned to her companion, with an inquisitive smile, eager to understand his wonderment. ‘My name is Aimi’ she said, attempting to look into his bewildered eyes. The boy blushed slightly and smiled back with his reply; ‘Nice to meet you’. Aimi looked patiently back at him, before requesting his name. The enamoured young man had been too overwhelmed to reply in kind and now seemed to blush even more. ‘My name is Haru’ he said, commanding himself to look away, and towards the single white flower in front of him.    

  ‘It’s a strange flower, isn’t it?’ Aimi said, trying to distract him from his clear discomfort. Haru smiled again, thankful for this diversion and, with gaze firmly fixed on the closed flower, sighed ‘both strange and beautiful.’ The maiden applied herself to the task of drawing him from his shell, speaking in a language that neither could, yet, understand. ‘I dare say that, when it blooms, it shall be the most grand in all the meadow, don’t you think?’ Haru, determined to affirm himself, turned his body towards Aimi in such a way as to make the meeting of their gaze inevitable. With an honest smile and attentive eyes, he declared proudly, ‘Certainly. When this flower blooms, it shall outshine all others in its brilliance’. Aimi found herself more puzzled than ever. Haru’s sudden alteration had served to both surprise and please her. With a warm smile, she looked into his eyes and seemed to find the answer she desired. Looking back at her was a young man, tender and coy, startled by the impulse of his own heart.

 For only a moment, their eyes were together, but that moment was enough to seal their kindred bond. In that single pulse in which their gaze had met, Haru saw new life awaken in those angelic eyes. Staggered and afflicted beyond all help by her glory, Haru weakened once more, diverting his attention. ‘I must go now’ said the newly awoken man, rising to his feet. ‘Will you come back?’ said Aimi in distress. Haru looked at her once more, her eyes now fearful and transfixed. Haru smiled gently, slowly turning to walk away and blissfully answered ‘I’ll be here tomorrow’. Before Haru could even complete this sentence, he found himself in Aimi’s embrace. Clasping tightly at first and then withdrawing. Aimi’s rose white skin blushed for the first time, gently, and with elegance that Haru could attribute to her, alone.

 What was to ensue was a night of metamorphosis. Unseen by any and yet majestic as the rising sun, the new and fragile flower became something greater. Its roots, deepening, spreading through the soil as if some wintry light, dispersing the frost of infertility. The once fragile stem had now swollen with life, conducting precious water as if vital blood to the heart. If any single flower had, in all time, been destined for beauty, it was this one pure and reluctant blossom.

 As the morning light ascended to the pinnacle of noon, Haru found himself truly able to comprehend the beauty of the meadow. Around him, he found the most resplendent and manifold vision of eden; every form of life at its peak; every winged creature, rapturous, revelling in the enchantment of spring. Never before had his eyes been opened to the beauty of the world; to the organic artistry of nature; to the overwhelming elation of life in the season of rebirth. Every tone and cast of vibrant iridescence had been awakened and, for the first time, Haru could view the full spectrum of chromatic elegance. As he approached the vivid and sublime sakura, the most captivating semblance of all secured his gaze. Around him, the immense and incomparable beauty he had previously savoured now seemed, although as majestic as ever, somehow diminished. All the blooming violets, pristine lilies and passionate, sanguine roses that had called to his heart were now in silence. To Haru, the only colour left in the world was that same exceptional sapphire.

 Beneath the weightless, rosy bloom of beauty, Aimi stood, her eyes sparkling, exultant in the midday sun. Without a word, they both knew that some certain and glorious awakening had befallen the other. ‘Haru’ exclaimed Aimi, without the slightest impulse to restrain the joy abundant in her voice. ‘Look at what our flower has become’. Haru looked towards the latent bud and, in its place, saw the beauty of a lifetime contained in one single blossom. Never before had simple petals seemed so intricate or grand. The swirling floral rings of immaculate white, bound tightly to one another, seemed to emulate the banded chronicle found at the core of an aged tree. Every petal in this elaborate formation seemed to take on a life of its own, each equated to every other by an invariable inclination toward bliss. At the heart of it all lay a deep and impassioned scarlet tide, permeating each petal as surely as the first.

 Haru smiled profoundly and Aimi clasped his hand. As Haru felt the warmth of her soft and pure skin against his own, he turned toward his angelic love. Gazing into her blissful and adoring eyes, he said ‘There are so many petals’. Aimi stood close, against Haru, and lay her head on his shoulder. Closing her eyes, she whispered; ‘Every one as beautiful as the first’.

Most recent

Most popular

More