If Flowers Could Talk...

If Flowers Could Talk...

A Stage Play by Liam Rogers

If Flowers Could Talk...
L.K. Rogers

It is barely past dusk on a dark and deserted London street corner. The focal point is one large but dim streetlight that illuminates half of the corner. In the background, We can see the outlines of buildings. Fog wraps around the tip of a
cathedral, Medieval in style. The chime from a church goes off in the distance. Horns from ships sound from the nearby harbor. SEAMUS appears from the fog into the light and approaches a woman, PATTY, standing alone on the sidewalk under the dim street light that brightens the foggy street corner. Seamus is a short man, with medium build, short gray hair, brown eyes and a five o’clock shadow. He wears a green velvet sport coat with patches on the elbows and a pair of sky blue
corduroy pants. Patty is a rather small, slender woman with gentle brown eyes, disheveled brown hair half way down her back. She wears a pair of faded black jeans, a tie-dye t-shirt, and an olive green military jacket. Seamus has a strong Irish accent and Patty has a more reserved English accent.

Fancy a flower, Miss?

He attempts to hand her a lovely single red rose.

Patty snobbishly replies.

No thank you.

Patty then turns away.

But I do think you want it.

No, I’m quite certain I don’t.

But it goes well with your eyes, your lovely ... what
color are they exactly?

Brown...They’re brown...

Ah yes, brown they are. They speak out to me, they
do... They harbor many a tale of those long painful
nights. I can almost see your tears. I know, and how
every evening lying in bed you listened with both ears
as the room filled with the muted sound of soldiers
shot dead by a round of blanks.


War is evil, Miss, don’t you agree?

Yes, I do, but a necessary one, they say...
Seamus stares at Patty. She glances at him a
number of times, but says nothing. Seamus waits
for her to talk... She finally turns to him,
looking flirtatious...

My eyes?...what about them?

They’re very becoming, I must say... By gosh, I could
just lose myself in them ... I stare and I stare and
their mere presence overwhelms my thoughts.
Patty giggles, bows her head down and rubs her
hand over the back of her neck. Seamus tries again
to hand her the flower. She again glances down at
the lovely red rose in his hand. Patty smirks

No...thank you.

Why, may I ask?

I despise rudeness, but do I know you? I must not
embrace affection from strangers...

No, you do not, but you are far from a stranger to me.


Seamus stops her as the moon begins to peak out
from behind the fog surrounding the abbey.

Please. I am quite certain that my fate...my destiny... can only be found by trying to hand a flower to a beautiful woman I do not know under the evening
moonlight on a deserted street corner deep within the bowels of London. I believe that you are that woman and that in fact this is that street corner.
(looks around)   Deserted as can be, it seems.  (raises flower again as offering)
Please, please, please take this flower. 

Patty turns back away, pulls her sleeve up to look
at her watch and then glances down the street both
ways, as if she is waiting for someone or

Seamus begins to turn and walk away, when she
quickly turns to him and says

Excuse me, Sir.

Seamus turns back around and returns.


Do you say those very words to every woman standing on
a street corner who you perceive as lonely...perhaps
even desperate?... I’m not one of those girls, you

Oh, I do know. You’re a lady, and a beautiful lady at

Seamus lowers his head and looks at the ground.
Patty laughs. Then Seamus lifts his head back up
and again holds the flower up to her and smiles,
nods, motioning for her to take it. Patty again

No thank you.

Quick, before the flower dies.

Patty laughs.

If you do not take it, the flower will slowly die a
painful death, deserted, rejected and full of
self-loathing. Can you sleep at night with that much

But Sir...

Please, must you be so formal?

Patty shakes her head yes, her face rather stern
in composure.

Must you?

I most certainly must, for I do not know you, and you
do not know me.

Oh, but I do.


In fact, I know you better than you know yourself,
young lady.

How might that be?

We have been here before...

Patty looks a bit confused.

I met you in a past life, and we are meeting over and
over again.

Patty sighs, becomes annoyed, shakes her head and
turns away.

This flower has a heart, Madam...a heart far larger
than all the breath we draw...

Patty turns back, sighs again, pushes her hair out
from over her eyes and looks at Seamus.

It is a flower Sir. Flowers do not have hearts, for
they grow and bloom on a schedule dictated by nature,
not themselves, and certainly never under their own

I was unaware that you felt nature had such rhythm, or
such passion.

Why yes. It most certainly does. It is intrinsically
methodical. It has the rhythm of a frolicking time
clock counting in perfect circles, forward then back.
She reaches into her bag, takes out a pill box,
opens it, takes one pill out and swallows it, then
puts the box back in her bag.

That very flower you hold in your hand was once holding
its petals up in triumph, while smiling brightly, just
knowing it made it to the start of another day. And
yet, you severed it from its roots and it has no choice
but to age at an astonishing rate, wither away and die.
Why? Because of your greed.

(in a cunning voice)
You have wonderful rhythm yourself, Miss.

(quickly becomes quite disgusted)
I beg your pardon?

I know your heart is forever overflowing with kindness,
a free spirit, a kind and genuine being, a paragon, the
salt of the earth! I know that you have no reservations
about using that heart to do good things for good
people... Your kindness can be seen by the blind and
heard by the deaf!

Patty takes the flower from Seamus, and loudly
laughs a heroic laugh, as her mere smirk becomes a
bright and anxious smile.

Do tell me how you came to know that?

Please....take the flower...

Patty thinks to herself for a moment.

(trying to be funny and flirty)
I know. It was with your roughly chiseled mind, was it
not? Or was it your tightly worded quips that fit
snugly around the canyon? No... (pause) or maybe...
(pause) I know. It was from your monumental steeple,
was it not? Yes, the steeple of your holy chapel, the
one that will grow and grow and grow until it is just
too large and obstructive to bear holding back.

No. It is just that your smile gives this city...the
world... this...I don’t know... this nocturnal light of
sorts, a halo of beauty and generosity. Your dreams,
they illuminate the sky. Like a sunset that becomes one
with the morning.
(He starts welling up)
My life without you was like a flower without
fragrance! I must say that!

But you don’t even know me.

Does that matter to your heart or just to your eyes?

My eyes set standards my heart can’t always honor.

Does that matter to your heart or just to your eyes?

It matters to my eyes.

Seamus turns and begins to walk away. Then Patty
takes hold of his sleeve.

Wait... Just wait.

She stares into his eyes.

But it will matter to my heart thirty two seasons from
now, and I assure you, will be just as strong.

Seamus is confused and doesn’t respond. He goes to
speak but nothing comes out...

Yes, Sir, I will be your wife.


(softer, relaxed but somewhat hesitant
as it sets in what she’s saying)
I said I will be your wife.

But I don’t even know you. Wouldn’t you prefer to first
allow our friendship to blossom like that very flower
you hold in your hand?

But we are friends already...now. Are we not?


And... and I don’t want you as a friend, Sir. The
flowers of friendship are destined to someday die. As
the petals fall off one by one and we become hollowed
out, soulless caricatures of people once in love
unknowingly. Theoretical partners without the
affirmation necessary for sustainability... yesterday’s
dreams become tomorrow’s memories...

Well, what do you want me as?

I want you as what you want me as...
A flower that will never die, one that will grow and
blossom equally in sunlight and darkness, ecstasy and
deceit, fondness and despair.

Fine, follow me.

Patty smiles and puts her arm around Seamus’s
waist. They begin to walk down the sidewalk. As
they are walking, Patty turns to Seamus and says

I don’t believe in reincarnation.


I believe it is a naive fantasy of aboriginal tribes.
One life is enough for me...

Voltaire said that it is not more surprising to be born
twice than once. He admits that everything in nature is
resurrection...And I personally don’t believe you can
truly be born until you have first lived.

Well, if Voltaire said it, it must be true.
(takes his hand)
Let’s go home...

She smiles and rests her head on Seamus’s
shoulder. Seamus then cradles his arm around her.
As they stroll towards the wharf, blinded by the
moonlight, Seamus looks into her eyes.

Do you believe that the spirits can work miracles?

Yes...Yes, Sir, I do...
(stops and turns to him)
Do you?

Seamus takes a deep breath, smiles and says
Depends on the day...
(they start walking again)
Today, yes.

They both look up at the sky, only to find that
the sun had risen behind them, and they never
knew. They begin to walk to the back of the stage.
A clanging sound is heard, slowly getting louder
and louder as the lights down down.
The stage stays dark briefly, but in the front of
the stage, a man quickly sit up in bed. He looks
half asleep. He shuts off his alarm. The lights
quickly go down.


© 2016 Liam Rogers

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Added on December 7, 2016
Last Updated on December 7, 2016


Liam Rogers
Liam Rogers

New York, NY

I am a poet, playwright, screenwriter, and journalist who runs a little publishing company. more..

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