The Heartless sacrifice

Reads: 198  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Human nature piece. Metaphorical for sure.

Submitted: April 20, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 20, 2015

A A A

A A A


A long time ago, before the world turned its heart to ice, two flowers blossomed in the sun.
One was a good flower, with petals as full as the midnight moon, blue as the skies and soft as a midnight whisper. 
The other was also beautiful, but had not grown in such good soil, it held its petals as high as it could, but couldn't reach the sun's light. 
Not wanting his friend to suffer and die, the first flower twisted itself around the other, pulling them both into the sun.
"Oh no," said the second flower, "this is not good for your stem, you should just leave me die, then you can grow healthy alone."
"I do not care," said the first flower, "I can be happy helping you, and when you have grown strong, we can be happy together."
As time passed, the flowers grew, and eventually the second flower bloomed, deep amethyst petals that reached for the heavens, glorious and dark.
Soon, it became the center of attention in the garden, drawing gazes from far and wide.
"Oh look my friend," said the first flower, "you are beautiful and strong. I am glad to be growing alongside you here."
"You're just saying that because you are my friend," Said the second flower, "that means your voice does not matter, as you are supposed to praise me always."
The first flower was surprised by the response, but thought nothing of it, simply saying to himself, "my friend must just be having a bad day."
But as the attention grew, the second flower grew worse, constantly complaining about the first flowers twisted stem, and plain blue petals. 
"Why didn't you take care of yourself?" It railed one day, "I did not ask you to help me, and now I am stuck with a gross twisted flower beside me."
The first flower grew silent, unsure of what it did wrong.
"you were never a good flower," cried the second, "why did you have to attach yourself to me? I grew this way all on my own, you were not needed. You only grew beside me because you wanted to steal my glory!"
And on and on the second flower spoke, twisted poisonous worlds that lanced out like hot spears of blame and scorn.
Finally, the first flower spoke.
"I will leave you, as you wish. If it will keep you happy, I will lay down and allow you to be without me." 
"Yes, that is for the best," said the second flower, "I never needed you anyways."
But as the blue flower laid down, people stopped coming to visit the second flower, saying that something was different, that the second flower seemed cold, and lifeless.
Sorry for the loss of all his fame, the second flowered turned and said;
"I'm sorry, my friend, please come back."
But it was too late: the second flower had twisted and withered in the darkness it had been forced into, blackened and thorny by the pain and hurt.
Nothing was left but a wild thistle, scarred and warped.
"You are a fool," said the thistle, "I wished for nothing more than to stand beside you in the sunlight, my only happiness was in being with you. 
I gave up my time in the sunlight to share it with you, but you could not share anything with me. You had to have it all yourself. but now, my stem is twisted and thorny, now all my petals have fallen and my leaves are ragged. There is nothing left for me to give you."
And then, the thistle died, finally leaving the side of the friend it had cherished most.
The Second flower could not understand, would not accept the fact that it had been its fault, that the blame was laden upon its own petals.
"You lied to me," it spat at the dead thistle, "you just want me to feel sorry for you, just want to see me fall."
As the darkness stirred within it, the second flower too grew thick and twisted, reaching high into the sky until it could no longer bloom beautifully.
Eventually, it became a poisonous weed, unable to inspire other or find acceptance. To this day, it sits, spewing poison and venom in the face of those who pass by.
Forever twisted by its pride.


© Copyright 2018 Jonwassing . All rights reserved.