ForestSparkle
Senior Member
Just submitted this weird thing for the writing one. Took me forever to write this, since I have insane writer's block every time I write. >_> It just got in with 800 words.
The morning was cloudy and fresh. The town was silent except for the cooing of the wind; summer rains brought no birds. Creeping out from behind the low clouds, the sun beamed approvingly onto thousands of gardens, gently caressing the glittering dew with light as they held steadfastly onto the grass.
Cozily situated in one of these grassy gardens was a glasshouse, sprinkled slightly with rain from the nightly showers. From inside of the glasshouse, a little flower thought this tiny, temporary addition to the view made it all the better - the rain sparkled like millions of minute jewels on the panes. The little flower decided to treasure the scene dearly.
"Good morning, my flowers. I do so hope you've been having enough sleep!" chortled Mrs Davies as she gingerly opened
the glasshouse door.
At the sound of Mrs Davies, the little flower cheered in delight along with its peers, and profusely greeted her. However, this was only met by a sneer from its neighbouring flower.
Plodding around the area, the kindly old lady scanned each plant with knowing eyes. She commented with content on how tall they were getting and soon she proceeded to discard of wilting blooms.
"The grandchildren are going to the zoo today," she reported; Mrs Davies loved telling the flowers about the grandchildren. "And afterwards they are coming over for dinner."
Peering meticulously around the glasshouse once more, she left, satisfied.
The shutting of the door spurred a buzz of conversation. Curiously observing the outside world, the timid little flower did not dare join in. It overheard several not-so engrossing conversations: Gossip about a famous rose, a height comparison, and several debates about who Mrs Davies loved the most in the glasshouse. Listening to its neighbour moan about how it was being confined and longed for the cool outdoor air caused the little flower to chuckle.
Aware of this, the neighbour asked, "Why do you find my imprisonment so amusing?"
Meekly, the little flower explained that it personally would never want to leave such a safe haven as the glasshouse to adventure into the wilderness.
After a period of confusion, the smirking neighbour turned away.
~~~
Midday was the little flower's favourite time. Like a slick blanket, rain smothered the streets. The soft pattering of the downfall was soothing. Somewhere, somehow, a single sparrow could be heard singing. Watching in alarm as a spider gorged on a fly in its silky web, the little flower averted its gaze onto the chattering plants it lived with. It decided to summon the courage to hold a discussion. Lifting its delicate head, it mumbled that Through the Looking Glass was proof that flowers could talk to humans.
Someone stared dubiously, then burst into cackling laughter. "Through the Looking Glass is a fictional story which was written too long ago to prove anything."
"Adding onto this, when Mrs Davies was actually reading it to us, she did say that it was a shame that we couldn't talk to her like the flowers could talk to Alice." Giggled another.
A third flower sighed, "Sometimes I worry for people's common sense in here. I think we all need some fresh air, especially the little theorist down here."
Proud of its brave achievement, the little flower once again ignored its peers. An hour felt like a year to it as the lazy time passed by like a sailboat on a lake.
~~~
Finally, the evening arrived, along with two rosy-cheeked children. They strolled out into the garden, yawned, and fixated on the plastic dolls and trucks strewn carelessly onto the agitated grass. Despite the attractiveness of the toys, however, the third child which came was far more interested in the glasshouse, which was now layered with raindrops.
"Grandma, I want to look at the pretty flowers inside the glasshouse!" the child exclaimed, pushing her nose up against the glass. Her inquisitive eyes met with the little flower and lit up like two azure stars. "Oh, grandma, I also know what I want for my birthday!"
The little flower was terrified.
~~~
A few days later, a young woman arrived Mrs Davies' house.
"Mum, I'm here to pick up Lottie's flower." she called as she briskly knocked at the door.
A woeful, strained answer replied, "Why, I'm afraid it wilted the day after she came over. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. Hold on, I'll just get a different one instead."
Grumbling, the young woman tapped her shoes on the dull stones and glanced at the silvery summer sky.
Mrs Davies finally came, opening the door cautiously with a scarlet hothouse flower in hand. "I am truly sorry about that. I hope she likes this little dearie instead." Smiling in sorrow, she held out the plant. "I think the other one must have withered in shock."
Cozily situated in one of these grassy gardens was a glasshouse, sprinkled slightly with rain from the nightly showers. From inside of the glasshouse, a little flower thought this tiny, temporary addition to the view made it all the better - the rain sparkled like millions of minute jewels on the panes. The little flower decided to treasure the scene dearly.
"Good morning, my flowers. I do so hope you've been having enough sleep!" chortled Mrs Davies as she gingerly opened
the glasshouse door.
At the sound of Mrs Davies, the little flower cheered in delight along with its peers, and profusely greeted her. However, this was only met by a sneer from its neighbouring flower.
Plodding around the area, the kindly old lady scanned each plant with knowing eyes. She commented with content on how tall they were getting and soon she proceeded to discard of wilting blooms.
"The grandchildren are going to the zoo today," she reported; Mrs Davies loved telling the flowers about the grandchildren. "And afterwards they are coming over for dinner."
Peering meticulously around the glasshouse once more, she left, satisfied.
The shutting of the door spurred a buzz of conversation. Curiously observing the outside world, the timid little flower did not dare join in. It overheard several not-so engrossing conversations: Gossip about a famous rose, a height comparison, and several debates about who Mrs Davies loved the most in the glasshouse. Listening to its neighbour moan about how it was being confined and longed for the cool outdoor air caused the little flower to chuckle.
Aware of this, the neighbour asked, "Why do you find my imprisonment so amusing?"
Meekly, the little flower explained that it personally would never want to leave such a safe haven as the glasshouse to adventure into the wilderness.
After a period of confusion, the smirking neighbour turned away.
~~~
Midday was the little flower's favourite time. Like a slick blanket, rain smothered the streets. The soft pattering of the downfall was soothing. Somewhere, somehow, a single sparrow could be heard singing. Watching in alarm as a spider gorged on a fly in its silky web, the little flower averted its gaze onto the chattering plants it lived with. It decided to summon the courage to hold a discussion. Lifting its delicate head, it mumbled that Through the Looking Glass was proof that flowers could talk to humans.
Someone stared dubiously, then burst into cackling laughter. "Through the Looking Glass is a fictional story which was written too long ago to prove anything."
"Adding onto this, when Mrs Davies was actually reading it to us, she did say that it was a shame that we couldn't talk to her like the flowers could talk to Alice." Giggled another.
A third flower sighed, "Sometimes I worry for people's common sense in here. I think we all need some fresh air, especially the little theorist down here."
Proud of its brave achievement, the little flower once again ignored its peers. An hour felt like a year to it as the lazy time passed by like a sailboat on a lake.
~~~
Finally, the evening arrived, along with two rosy-cheeked children. They strolled out into the garden, yawned, and fixated on the plastic dolls and trucks strewn carelessly onto the agitated grass. Despite the attractiveness of the toys, however, the third child which came was far more interested in the glasshouse, which was now layered with raindrops.
"Grandma, I want to look at the pretty flowers inside the glasshouse!" the child exclaimed, pushing her nose up against the glass. Her inquisitive eyes met with the little flower and lit up like two azure stars. "Oh, grandma, I also know what I want for my birthday!"
The little flower was terrified.
~~~
A few days later, a young woman arrived Mrs Davies' house.
"Mum, I'm here to pick up Lottie's flower." she called as she briskly knocked at the door.
A woeful, strained answer replied, "Why, I'm afraid it wilted the day after she came over. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. Hold on, I'll just get a different one instead."
Grumbling, the young woman tapped her shoes on the dull stones and glanced at the silvery summer sky.
Mrs Davies finally came, opening the door cautiously with a scarlet hothouse flower in hand. "I am truly sorry about that. I hope she likes this little dearie instead." Smiling in sorrow, she held out the plant. "I think the other one must have withered in shock."
