The Last Flower

A flower fell from the sky, one day. A Thursday. It drifted down, slowly; as if it didn't want to land. It sailed past skyscrapers and schools, through monuments and alleyways; until it came to rest in a pool of oil. Black and glistening, the liquid shivered slightly as it landed. And it floated there, without sinking, without thinking, like a drop of blood in the night.

A little boy ran past the pool, his game suddenly unimportant the moment he saw the flower. He yelled for his mom."Mama! Mama! There's something in the water!" Hearing her son's cries, she rushed over to him, but stopped dead when she saw what he was pointing at. "What is it, Mama?" He asked, tugging at her shirt. She pulled him back, away from the pool. "Come away, son." He pouted. He wanted to see the new thing. "Why?" He questioned. "It's dangereous." He couldn't see how such a small thing could be dangerous, but he listened to his mother. She walked back to the bench where she had been sitting, and he went back to playing. But the moment her back was turned, he rushed back to the pool. Reaching out, he grasped the flower, and held it in his hands.

This thing, this thing, oh how he wanted this thing, more than the sky itself.It was so soft, so fragrent, all he could do was stare. It's beauty entranced him, enveloped him, captured him. All he could think of was this thing, and how it was all his. He didn't notice when his mother yelled his name and ran towards him. She gripped his shoulders and pulled him back sharply, making the flower fall from his hands. He spun around, rage filling his eyes. It was her. She wanted it. She wanted to take it from him; to keep it from him. But it was his. His. He rushed at her, blind with fuery and hate. He killed her beside the pool. And when her body was crumpled on the ground, he turned to claim his prize. But it had drifted into the center of the black pool, just out of his reach. He streached, fingertips almost grazing the flower. He wanted it, he needed it.He shifted foward a bit, trying to reach it, a crazed look in his eyes. He fell in tumbling and screaming. He thrashed about, trying to find his flower before it was lost. He drowned in that pool, sinking below the black ooze, his lungs filled with tar.

And the flower floated, unknown to it the deaths it has caused. And there it stayed, without thinking, without knowing, the last of it's kind.