Short Stories by Me

Blue Tulips

The full moon shone in the darkness, the stars flirting as they twinkled and danced. A shimmy here, a dip there.

Under a tree far below the waltzing sky, hundreds of small flowers snoozed in the dim light. Their small heads leaning to the side, their soft blue bonnets made of petals emitting a glow, tinting the green grass around them blue. These are the Blue Tulips. Once every decade, they bloom and bring blessings throughout the world. That night had come.

The moon yawned, pushing aside its blanket of clouds to begin the symphony of the night. He took a deep breath. The song had to be dazzling enough to wake the flowers, or they would go a decade without the joy they spread.

The crickets played the violins, and the frogs bellowed on the trombones, clashing together, though it didn't sound half bad. The wind whistled a tune, and the late night birds sang alto. Far, far away, the clouds played the cymbals, adding their own fireworks for effect.

The flowers stretched, straining their ears to listen to the song, waving to the melody..

The soft glow turned iridescent, shimmering and bright, and the Moon pressed the symphony harder, conducting his orchestra to it's impressive breaking point.

With a burst of blue powder and an explosion of light, the flowers yanked themselves from the ground and began dancing more than even the stars. Their skirts were leaves, their top hats blossoms, and they lept through the night, ten by ten, off to bless.

The song had not only awakened the flowers, but it had stirred the people, and they were now up and waiting for the flowers. The song got closer with the flowers, and then, wait, no no, there they are, is it real, I see them!

The blossoms were shaking with joy, and magic radiated off of them, pouring into the ground, some resting on top where others would gather it and slip it into their pockets for another day. The voices of the night were joined by the people, and the Moon was almost crying at the sight of what his song of crickets had become. The song of joy, the song of love, what a beauty, the Moon was thinking. I made that, his thought continued. And all for the flowers.

The Moon was smiling over his song, and a flower, the smallest of them all, looked up at the Moon and opened its delicate mouth.

"Hello, Mr. Moon," the flower smiled.

"Hello, little one," the Moon replied.

"How do you make such beautiful music?" The Flower asked with innocents.

"I don't make the music," the Moon answered humbly. "They do." He nodded to his orchestra. "I simply conduct it."

"Oh." The flower smiled sweetly. "That's just as wonderful, if not more. I think it is the most beautiful thing in the world when a person can not make something beautiful by themselves."

"Why is that?" The Moon asked.

"Because then more people can say that they made something beautiful."

The Moon looked after the little flower as it hurried away to continue dancing. He did not glare, he did not fawn.

The song was coming to an end, the music slowing down as the musicians got tired. The land was filled with blessings from the flowers, and the people were slowly receding into their houses, tuckered out from the hours of dancing. Far on the horizon, the Moon's brother, the Sun, was waking up.

"Quick!" the Moon whispered. "Clean up! My brother hates when we do anything without him."

So silently, happily, the flowers scurried under their tree and pulled up their blankets, falling asleep and resting so still you could think they had never moved. You could just see the Moon fading into the background, laughing at the Sun who had no idea what he had even missed.

So, some of these are really short, such as this one here. Hope that's okay...

Thanks and GOODNIGHT!