Flowers

The Hyacinths and Petunias are in the middle of a prolonged turf war for control of pollen distribution locations. Petunia leader Bartleby's final solution to the conflict proves disastrous.

Once upon a time there was a walking and talking flower. Its name was Bartleby. The flower lived in a sunny meadow filled with grass, trees, bugs and flowers. Bartleby lived on Begonia Drive on the east side of the meadow.

The west side of the meadow was home to another walking and talking flower. This flower’s name was Paco. Paco was a Hyacinth. Bartleby was a Petunia. The Petunias and Hyacinths had been involved in a turf war for nearly a decade.

            The Hyacinths and Petunias wanted to sell their pollen on all sides of the meadow. Neither group would accept that the other was selling pollen in the same meadow. There were plenty of strung out bees in the meadow but the greedy flowers wanted to supply them all.

            One sunny morning Bartleby was near the west side border selling pollen. Paco came out from behind a bush and said, “What you doin’ there ese?”

            “I’m selling my pollen on my turf, chump, what are you going to do about it?” Bartleby replied.

            “Oh, holmes, that’s not your turf anymore.” Around 50 Hyacinths came out from behind the bushes, “Me and my partners here say so.”

            “You just made a big mistake blood.” Bartleby exclaimed as he cautiously backed away.

            Bartleby returned to Begonia Drive and called all the Petunias to a meeting. With the voice of a Caesar he rallied his troops, “Petunias, it is time to take the Hyacinths out for good. For too long they have been polluting this meadow and stealing our bees with their poor quality pollen.” The crowd gazed at him in awe like believers kneeling before the messiah. Bartleby continued his speech, “They think they can push us around and take our turf. The whole meadow will be our turf if we kill them all!” The crowd let out a loud gasp, “I have the perfect weapon. This is called a can of hairspray, this is called a lighter.” Bartleby held up a small blue Bicä and an aerosol can of Aquanetä.

            Bartleby demonstrated the power of his new weapon of mass flower destruction. Flicking the lighter brought forth a flame. Bartleby held the spray can behind the flame and depressed the button atop the can. A stream of liquid released and ignited. Oohs and aahs echoed across Begonia Drive. The Hyacinth problem would soon be solved.

            “This is the final solution we have been waiting for Petunias.” Bartleby proclaimed, “They will burn and burn. We shall own this meadow!”

            The next day Bartleby led the Petunias toward the west side. They were met near the border by a massive Hyacinth force. Paco saw his rival and smiled, “Come to get a beat down ehh?” Paco exclaimed confidently.

            “Laugh now Paco,” Bartleby said smugly, “you’ll get yours soon!” The Petunias stopped and tension stiffened the air. Both sides stood anxiously and waited.

            “Charge!” Paco finally cried out.

            Bartleby responded with a knowing smirk. The Petunias simply stood their ground and waited for Bartleby’s command. The charge of the Hyacinths grew closer. Bartleby chuckled to himself and calmly said, “Now.”

            In unison the entire front row of Petunias dropped to their knees. The second row moved close behind them. They all raised their lighters. They took aim with their cans, and like a troop of Redcoats unleashed a tsunami of fire at the Hyacinths. Little flaming flowers began scurrying wildly about. Screams of pain and horror carried across the meadows. The fires kept burning.

            As the first two rows of Petunias depleted their cans of hairspray, the next two rows moved to the front. The inferno was constant. Soon nearly all the Hyacinths were dead, or burning. Only Paco remained unscathed. Paco was on his knees before Bartleby pleading for his life.

            Bartleby would have none of it. He flicked his lighter and Paco cringed. As hairspray met flame Paco let out a bloodcurdling scream. His petals became ablaze and he slowly was reduced to a pile of ash.

            The turf war had been won. Not only had the Petunias taken control of the west side, they had rid the entire meadow of Hyacinths. The entire Hyacinth population was deceased. The Petunias were the only flowers left. A golden age of Petunia rule had been born, or so they thought.

            A few years passed and all in the meadow seemed peaceful. The Petunias had a monopoly in pollen and business was booming. All the strung out bees from the meadow lined up to buy the Petunia’s pollen. With no competition they were able to charge lower prices. This kept the bees quite happy, and turned common notions on their heads.

            Business was fantastic but something worrisome was afoot. Petunia children were suddenly being born with strange problems. Some had webbed fingers. Some had misshapen petals. Others had three eyes. The Petunias did not know what was causing these strange mutations.

            The Petunias all gathered in the town square. They were all shouting over one another and everyone was in a tizzy. Pregnant female Petunias broke down in tears fearing the horrible monstrosities incubating in their bellies. Bartleby urged them to calm down.

            “Petunias,” He began, “I do not know what is causing our problem, but we can not let it get us down. I know those of you who are heavy with child are afraid. I know you think the same thing that has been happening to the other children will happen to yours. We must have faith that they will be OK. We are trying to solve the issue, but we need time. Fear not, your children will be fine. I have even impregnated a female of my own. My powerful seed shall chase our demons away.”

            Time passed and the Petunias learned just how wrong Bartleby was. Not only were Petunia babies still being born with problems, the mutations were getting worse. The infants were not surviving past a few weeks and the population was slowly declining. Bartleby’s seed turned out to be just as flawed as the rest. His child was born with no petals, five stems, three eyes, and no mouth. It lived only a few days.

            The demise of Bartleby’s child crushed all hope for the Petunias. Even Bartleby felt they could no longer be saved. Years passed and the population continued to dwindle. Not only were the Petunias dying off, the bees left when the Petunias could no longer provide the pollen to feed their addictions.

            Many years had passed and Bartleby was the only living thing left in the meadow. He was alone and wilting towards death. He sat by himself in the meadow awaiting his demise when on the horizon he saw a form taking shape. It was moving towards him. As it moved closer Bartleby saw that it was a slowly lumbering sloth. It took the creature awhile to reach Bartleby, but he made it. Bartleby was happy to not be alone once again.

            “Oh fair creature. It has been so long since I had another soul to speak to. What good words do you bring?” Bartleby asked.

            Slowly the sloth responded, “I come to share the reason for the demise of your people.”

            “How do you know the reason?” Bartleby was shocked.

            “I have been watching your meadow from that tree over yonder,” He pointed to a large tree off in the distance, “for longer than you have been alive. I saw when you eliminated your enemies the Hyacinths. I was sad. I set off at that point to warn you. Unfortunately, I am too slow and it has taken me all these years to finally arrive here.”

            “You could have prevented my people from dying? You tell me this now!” Bartleby was angry.

            “I may not have been able to prevent it, but I could have warned you.” The sloth explained, “I did not know then, nor do I now know, how to prevent it, but I knew it would happen. I could have warned you, but I know not what good it would have done.”

            “Well then what good would you have been?” Bartleby was getting frustrated.

            “Perhaps, had I been able to warn you sooner, you could have figured out a way to fix the problem.”

            “So what was the problem?” Bartleby inquired. He could no longer be mad at the sloth because he realized he only meant to help.

            “By killing off all the other flowers in the meadow, you killed off any chance for your people to survive.” The sloth explained, “You see, by eliminating the Hyacinths you caused your gene pool to become smaller and smaller.”

            “Gene pool?” Bartleby was confused, “I don’t know where that is. I know all the bodies of water in the meadow, and there is none called Gene Pool.”

            “Your gene pool is not a body of water. It is the material within your bodies that acts as a blueprint for your children. As the years passed after killing the Hyacinths, the genetic material contained within your Petunia bodies grew more and more similar to one another. Without different genes your children were unable to be properly, programmed so to speak.”

            “I don’t understand.” Bartleby said.

            “You wouldn’t marry your sister would you?” The sloth asked.

            “No.” Bartleby replied.

            “Why not?” The sloth questioned further.

            “That’s gross.” Bartleby explained.

            “It’s not just gross, it’s dangerous.” The sloth continued, “See, you would have the same genetic material, it takes two sets of genetic material to create a proper child. With only one set, even though there would be two copies, they cannot properly form. This is what led to the demise of your people. What you thought was your greatest triumph was actually your downfall.”

            Bartleby was crushed. He couldn’t believe what he had done. It was he who had rallied the Petunias to defeat the Hyacinths, but wouldn’t they have done the same thing if they could have? He asked the sloth, “The Hyacinths would have killed us if we didn’t kill them. What was I supposed to do?”

            “Had the Hyacinths done what you did they would have met the same fate.” The sloth went on, “The only way to prevent it would have been for your two populations to learn to live together side by side.”

            “But it’s not like we mated with Hyacinths.” Bartleby challenged.

            “You didn’t, but that does not mean none of the Petunias did.” The sloth responded.

            “What?” Bartleby felt ill.

            “Just because Paco, you, and your gangs didn’t get along did you think none of the Petunias got along with Hyacinths?” The sloth continued, “The average Petunia and Hyacinth were kind and loving. They got along, they just feared letting you or the other gangsters know. That was what kept your meadow alive. Your petty squabbles have killed it.”

            The sloth walked off and left Bartleby to wallow in his newly found guilt. He now knew that his inability to get along with Hyacinths was the catalyst for the end of his civilization. That pain was too much and he wished his death would come soon. His death never came however. He was old, withered, and should have died, but he didn’t. Decades passed with Bartleby alone and sad in the dead meadow. He was being punished for what he did. He was doomed to an eternity of pain.