Short Stories

Childhood Story

O were I hovering, a bee, to probe 
Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower, 
Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe,
Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!

– Claude McKay

     In my past life I was a bee, and I wandered around many gardens alongside my kind. We liked to explore as far as possible from the hive and we often got into trouble because of it. God knows how many times we got scolded by the Queen herself! But we were young bees, worrying wasn't part of our schedule. As friendly as they were, there was... one thing I really did not like about my friends. They had an obsession with pollinating flowers, as if that was our meaning in life besides working in the hive. They were very perverted on that matter. If they would get rejected, they would just force themselves on the flowers. Those were some of the moments I was ashamed to be acquainted with them.

One day, I decided to wander alone in a new garden. Of course, my friends didn't know. There were many beautiful flowers that tried to tempt me, but none got my attention the same way she did... She was this shy little flower with her petals contracted. Something flowers do only when the night comes, she did it in broad daylight.

The next day I went again to that garden, just to watch her shy figure. When I counted her petals, there was something different. I checked to see if I was wrong, but I wasn't. She had 29 petals, an additional one from the day before... Maybe I counted wrong? The following day I came to the garden once again. Counting her petals, she had 30.

Every day I visited the garden. I kept my distance from her and counted her petals. It became unbearable as time passed. I just couldn't stand watching her. She had 35 petals when I decided to approach her. I came by and greeted her, but she turned away from me with her petals still contracted.

I thought about giving up and returning to spending time with my friends, but something kept me from doing so. There was something peculiar with that particular flower and I felt it. I wouldn't allow myself to give up until I'd find out what. I visited her the next day; I counted her petals and greeted her again. The same ritual continued day after day. Her mesmerizing, contracted petals multiplied as time passed.

She eventually stopped from turning away from me. Instead, she opened up a small part of her contracted petals and moved her leaves towards me whenever I came. I couldn't see the color of her petals, but there was nothing to complain about. Considering she kept ignoring me until that day, it was a big improvement... also, I was too busy admiring her.

I could tell she started to get used to my visits. Besides greeting, I eventually found the courage to talk to her, to tell her tales about the other gardens that I came across in the past. Every day she would listen to my stories and she would open up a little more of her contracted petals.

     Ah! I still remember the day she opened up completely to me. She had 46 petals back then, all of which were painted in the colors of red, yellow and purple. She was the most beautiful flower of the garden; I could not take my eyes away from her. Even when we had to depart, I would always turn my head for one more glance at her while returning to the hive.

When she had 50 petals, I stayed more than I normally do. She ended up wrapping her leaves around me as the light slowly left the garden. Her petals were contracted. The sight of her figure in the fading light and the sound of crickets were enough to make me forget of the hive and fall asleep next to her. When I woke up the following day, she still had her leaves wrapped around me and 51 beautiful petals opened to greet me.