The Tulip

Very short story with a few morals. First draft, just had the idea tonight.

 

 

            I am a tulip in a world or roses. From a seedling, I knew I was different. When all the roses only cared of and loved the sunshine, I loved and appreciated the rain.  I knew that rain helped us to grow and never took advantage of it. I watched the roses around me grow, though beautiful, they lacked the compassion for the Whole of life. They did not see through the soil as I did, their eyes saw the dirt surface. They only were interested in how many humans stopped by to smell them.  

            So many times I looked up to them and admired their reds, yellows, purples and pinks. They seemed to dance and have confidence like no other flower. I wanted to be one of them and dreamed of it nightly.  

            The roses refused to speak to me because I was a tulip. They didn’t like that I was multi-colored. They called me names like two lips and soil trash. I felt like I was forever looking up to them because they were a huge bush. They hand branches and many flowers and people loved to pick them for their vases. I was always left in the dirt.

            Then one day there was a storm and it rained for hours and hours.  My stem grew heavy and I tilted towards the ground. I thought it was going to be the end of me. I felt tired, sad and alone. I feared I would drown. All I could see was the earth. So I tried to fall asleep with no intention of waking.

Then the sun came through the clouds. It was then I noticed that the rose petals were falling everywhere; all their gorgeous colors melting to the wet ground.

            I started to feel lifted and I realized that my stem was straightening and my petals were growing strong. I was now tall and I felt proud. I looked up to the sky and I saw the rose bushes were almost bare. What was left of the flowers were damaged and lacked the vibrant colors that once prided them. I felt sorrow for them.

            They told me they were sad, one even apologized for being mean to me. At first I was confused but then I understood that I was intact. I was blessed by the rain and it made me tall and strong and now my petals illuminated yellow and red. I realized that now I was the rose. I was now the flower that people stopped to admire. And the roses were bare branches with thorns that no one could touch without being hurt.

            Now was my chance to burden them with guilt and show them how they had treated me. I wanted them to know how mean they were and give them a taste of their own pesticides. Instead I looked at them and smiled and told them not to worry because roses always grow back and that the rose was a symbol of love. It was then that we became friends; however, I no longer look up to them. I realized I didn’t live in a world of roses, I lived in a world of all types of flowers and no one was perfect.

Author's Note

Please ignore grammar, punctuations etc...Its just for fun and I don't plan on making it into more. thanks :)

Reviews

[Aethereal]

This tulip-rosebush personification is a great metaphor for the value of human diversity. This metaphor could also be made into a poem. This story would also make an instructive illustrated children's book. Children's literature is one of the most difficult to write, but you seem to have the creative knack.

[Morgan Storms]

I was inspired by your review to write a little kids poem. Thanks.