We went to a local theater production of Little Shop of Horrors. The talking plant looked like a guy in a beanbag, and the singing was off-key. I didn’t mind because I was with you. After the show, you mistook shasta daisies vs. ox-eye daisies at the restaurant. I chuckled and suggested you should learn your flowers — a modest proposal.
It was the first night we spent together. We found a petal on your pillow. You thought I’d put it there to be romantic. I said it must’ve been caught in your hair. I knew better.
#
The next morning we hugged as you were leaving. I breathed in your earthy scent and knew I’d made the right decision. When we kissed, I felt something on your tongue.
#
The next week, you didn’t return my calls or texts. My cheeks burned when you finally messaged — Please come right away. I knew you needed me even more than you realized.
#
The street blurred past in a watercolor rush. I caught every green light but one — and ran it. I parked crooked and took two stairs at once to your floor.
The tulips scattered outside your apartment door told me all I needed to know. Before I could knock, you pulled me inside. Your place smelled sweet as a florist’s cooler — a celebration of fragrance, of power. Of devotion.#
We brushed tulips from the sofa, sat and interlocked fingers. I could feel your heart pulsing in your palm. Or was it mine?
I didn’t press you to tell me what happened. It’s important not to rush a bloom.
#
After several minutes, you explained how you invited your boyfriend over to break up with him. You spoke haltingly, then in a flood. You said your ex didn’t take it well. He bullied you into the bedroom and tried to force himself on you. When he pressed his lips to yours, you screamed. A scream that saved you.
As you recounted what had happened, tulips the color of bruises flew from your mouth. I feared you might faint, so I guided your head between your knees and stroked your back.
#
After you recovered, you led me down the hall. Flowers squished under my feet.
#
He was a big fellow, facedown on the bed. I turned him over and smiled when I saw he was clutching his throat, a stem sticking from his mouth. I pulled. It snagged. I pulled again, hard — gentle the last thing in my mind. A single rose slid free. It was white and edged with red.
#
You began to sob. I explained how I couldn’t resist infecting you with … my gift. Sometimes I speak words with flowers, I said, chrysanthemums flying from my mouth. Sometimes only words.
You collapsed to the floor. I was glad I hadn’t spoken sunflowers.
#
I fanned your face with a magazine until you came to. Your eyes were wide, pupils large as buds about to burst. I squeezed your hand and promised to teach you, promised our every kiss would be an act of trust.
You said I had no right. I told you roots don’t ask permission. I flinched as you swore at me. Maybe you weren’t worthy after all.
A bunch of metal flowers, blue, white, yellow and bronze from Pixabay.com
literally stories 
This is really odd and spooky in the best way. I’ll admit this is not my favourite PIV and in fact you overcame extra odds getting this through but it is very worthy of its place indeed. An entertaining read if rather unsettling. Thank you – dd
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Thank you so much, Diane! Odd, spooky and unsettling is what I was going for.
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David
I promised the Ghost of my Mother not to use the word “surreal” to describe a story anymore. That prohibition still leaves many other useful impressions–even though the best one is off the board. And yet, in the technical, loophole sense, I have placed that in the mind of the reader of this comment without clearly stating it. So far so good: no bells ringing, no misty apparitions loitering about the towers.
This is a defiant little thing that comes from the real reason why children will not eat their vegetables. The best occupation is to enjoy this small, blooming, dark wonder without thinking too much, without letting why? ruin it for you. That lets the perfectly timed surprise make this Thursday even stronger than Thursdays normally are!
Leila
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Thanks, Leila, but I don’t understand what’s surreal about someone spewing flowers from their mouth when they talk. Seriously, I much appreciate your comment! “Small, blooming dark wonder” could be a prompt for another story.
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Hi Dave,
This is bonkers!!
I wish I was a metaphor hunter as I may then be able to give this a reasoning. But I can’t. What I do know is your imagination. The story you did regarding the hot air balloon landing in someone’s garden was out there. Your ‘My Powdered Friend (??) was inventive but again your imagination shone through!!
I thought on this as some sort of ‘nice’ (I fucking hate that word!!) Triffid type situation. Or maybe a mutation of both human and plant…Actually fuck knows!!!!
I think you could write for a comic such as Creepshow (I hope you know an illustrator) or if they ever brought back ‘The Outer Limits’ or ‘The Twilight Zone’ your work could be used for so many episodes.
I’ve said it many times, I envy you, Leila and Marco’s imaginations.
Superb my fine friend!!!!
Hugh
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Thank you, Hugh. Your support and positive feedback these past 10 (!) years means the world to me!
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Fine writing, an excellent idea well executed. thank you – mick
ps. did the piece need a lot of watering?
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Thank you, Mick. A half-gallon a day!
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David
I was immediately swept up by this piece. It has incredible forward motion and urgency. Part of the tension seems contained in the fact that this world feels so recognizable but is also “off” in its own strange way. That combination of seeming everydayness and something being a little off is a great way to start a short story.
And this piece develops and has DEVELOPMENT, where everything changes and becomes something more than what it was by the ending. The reader is given something to ponder in this evolutionary action that is required of all great tales. And you have done that with subtle magic here, using understatement that’s more convincing than shouting from the boards would’ve been.
And the nuanced ambiguity of this piece makes the reader wonder more about the situations of the characters. And the lean, clean language used in this piece never slows the reader down or says too much, and neither does it leave anything out that feels like it should be there!
So, all in all, this has the feel of a masterful flash fiction, the symbolic complexity of poetry combined with the fast forward motion of motivational character-based narrative, a truly rare combination, especially these days.
This is like a fusion of Emily Dickinson and Franz Kafka in the best of ways. Bravo!
Dale
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Thanks for your generous comment, Dale! Sometimes I think my language is too lean and clean, but that’s the way it comes out so I don’t fight it anymore.
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Great story, David! Speculative fiction at its best.
Roy
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Thank you, Roy! I’m glad you liked the story.
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Nicely weird! I love a bit of surreal-horror especially during these darker days so this definitely fits the bill & is well-written too. Excellent!
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Thanks, Steven. If I ever write a sequel, I’ll make sure the narrator chokes on a dandelion.
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David
I was circling the weird-ities as I went, which I liked very much. Surreal-ities, too. Surreal is a word I have grown to hate, because every basketball player asked how it feels to score a triple-double or horse who wins a race says, “Surreal, Dude.”
But this really was! I loved every circle. It was so matter-of-factly told. So, . . . Surreal, Dude. — gerry
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Thanks, Gerry! In this case, the more -ities the better!
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Weird break up story which is the best kind. Mine were never that interesting.
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Hi, Doug, My breakups were never that interesting either so it was fun to make up one that was.
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Bloody hell – this is good! The flower metaphor for a relationship coming into full bloom is superb and not in the slightest overdone. But also the pacing – I loved the description of rushing to her after a week of no contact – the running of a light, the crooked parking, etc. And then the almost modern gothic ending – a dark, modern, and beautiful love story.
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Thanks, Paul! I much appreciate your kind comment. Glad you enjoyed the story!
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Oddly spellbinding, & gives a whole new slant to the phrase the ‘language of flowers.’
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Many thanks for taking the time to comment. This particular dialect of the language isn’t so nice!
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A story of possession and …stalking….Say it… and plant the earthy lady with flowers. Romance turned to its opposite….”Pupils large as buds about to burst” quite a few descriptors that combine horror with what we normally think of as romance. That was an apt movie to start it all off. Witty twilight zone material. Everything has a reference, “Gentle the last thing in my mind,” for example.
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Thanks, Harrison. Glad you enjoyed the story and picked up on those references.
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Hi David, I love a little magic in my stories and this is a gem of a story with just the right touch of reality sliding into fantasy. I like the staccato formatted breaks, and the stripped down sentences with just enough description to tempt us into wishing we could spew flowers instead of words. Lovely. Thanks for this!
my best, Maria
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