The Resurrection of the Flower

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The flower had been left in the cave to die.

The Wolf had clawed her from the earth, and had cast her in the darkness to wither and fade.

The flower wiggled along the ground pathetically, moving slowly across the graveyard of the Wolfs other victims, their husks emitting a saddened vibration. The Wolf was a sick being, lost from the spirit of the forest, it wandered around and it clawed up the most beautiful flowers she could find, as her inner pain tormented her and lead her to wound other beings of the forest, the Wolf would claw up the flowers and then cast them into the Cave to die. The Wolf had done this a thousand times, and she had become ugly and withered being because of it - filled with pain and regret.

The flower made it's way through the mud, the dust, the sunken earth.

Light shimmered in the distance. The flower smiled.

The flower crawled and crawled, struggled and fought - it tore it's flesh and burned it's eyes -

and then.

She was back in the forest.

The Wolf was near the mouth of the cave, dead - wild flowers slowly growing through her decomposing flesh, her pain being transmuted into beauty.

The flower forgave the wolf and struggled to move foward, but could not.

A wild bird flew down and picked her up, and flew her into a field.

The flower felt the breath of God on the breeze, and sighed in relief.

She was lowered down gracefully into the soil, by a spot picked out by the beak of the bird. The flower rooted, and smiled, feeling the soil fill her with moisture and life. The wild bird flew away and the flower thanked the bird in her heart.

The flower breathed in deeply, and smiled.

She was home, and knew nothing could take her from it ever again.

~ fin ~

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