Flora and Faux Pas

An old man starts his day by trimming a Bonsai tree, and yet....

The old man shuffled into his small apartment flat, having just finished getting dressed for the morning. He tested his hands, flexing them to check their steadiness, before adjusting his collar and breathing in the air of a new day. He started for the drawer of a cabinet and pulled out a very rusty pair of scissors from within. He snipped the shears and a metallic chime rang forth, reverberating the air. He nodded with a tiny smile as he scuttled to the side of his sofa and sat down.

He looked toward the tree sitting upon the table in front of him, a Bonsai of small size that rose healthily up, extending it's branches skyward. The sun beamed down on it through the window pane and it's leaves glimmered with awe. A second glimmer shown, and the scissors came down sharply across one of the small leaves.
He hummed a quiet melody as the old man trimmed away at the small plant, neatly snipping at each branch with meticulous and methodical precision. Each cut was outlined to him; the dead leaves brushed away and newly stemming branches were carved in guiding order. The movements continued with a specific pattern that only the old man seemed to know of, his fingers flying gracefully through the arms of the tree. Finally, he slowed his motions as the last of the separating limbs was severed, the final snip echoing in the silence of the tiny living room.
The old man sat back and sighed cheerfully, gazing at his work that made the tree seem steady, firm, and stable among the empty space around it upon the small coffee table. He nodded and with some effort, stood up and padded over to a large metallic door resting on the opposite side of the apartment. He swiped his hand over a motion sensor and a large keypad appeared with an assortment of letters. He gently pressed the four buttons that comprised his name into the lock and a green light blinked twice, followed by a loud click. Rolling his shoulders slightly, the elderly man gripped the cold handle and pulled heavily. The door creaked and gradually opened, bright light bursting out from behind it. He shielded his eyes for only moments as the man's sight adjusted to the luminous fluorescent light.

Lamps hung aglow along the white-tiled ceiling that reflected rays down to the white ceramic floor. Rows upon rows of bonsai trees lined the narrow hallway that stretched ever endlessly forward, reminding the man of a strange but beautiful forest. A tree stood to his left ominously, it's branches draping over the doorway entrance as a tree right beside it curled and twisted in miniature and wiry knots near the ground. Another bonsai shimmered dully with red ashen leaves as another contrasted it from across the aisle with it's nearly glowing white branches. Each tree, different in both size and shape, came with an engraved name along the base of their pot that they sprouted from.

The man made a wide smile, breathed in the fresh air around him and stepped forward near a young, but withered tree labeled “Frederick Owens”. With one swift snip, a small stubby stem reaching in a strange and askew direction was eliminated from the sapling. Whether it brought out color to the small tree or not, the old man did not know, but he was certain the exact flow of growth for these children as he moved on to the next tree named “Akito Tanzaki.”
He moved slowly, with a finesse of true elegance in each dodge and weave between branches and leaves, cutting and slicing, making the excess stems rain like autumn leaves falling in the wind. The clipping was precise, never wavering on a single branch as he reached each in the same quick-thinking decisiveness that he gave with every previous tree. His smile gradually broadened into a grin as happiness built up within him with the thrill of knowing the directions of the trees, knowing how to shape them exactly the way they were meant to be.

It almost came as a shock when he stumbled slightly over a twig from beneath his sandal. He looked down startled as he eyes shifted to the labels of the pots and the name of which had caused the twig to fall. Scanning past “Samuel O'Shennesy” and “Allison Weinhart”, his gaze finally rested uneasily upon the name he most feared. “Jonathan Elden.”
The tree within the pot had sprouted so sporadically that it barely even looked like a bonsai; it's branches and trunk reaching everywhere and anywhere as it's leaves had a hint of practically every color in the spectrum of a rainbow. It was wild, untamed, and was the biggest thorn in the old man's side. Each time he would trim it's stems they would return the next day even thicker and more resilient to his continuous cuts. It never followed the suit that each of the other bonsais had, and the plant had apparently just shed it's largest branch that the old man had been hoping would follow through with growing. Instead, it had grown a full arm of leaves out and toward an outstretched branch from another pot labeled “Sarah North,” nearly interweaving one another.
The old man brushed a bead of sweat away from his forehead as he now steadied himself before the elongated branch, both hands firmly clamping down on the scissors' handles. He inched the blades closer and around the shoot, making sure he had a straight and clean shot at knocking off the blasted limb of the tree. Whatever he did, he must not let the branch take over his makings. He led this tree up from a simple seed, it should not be this uncontainable. He breathed in heavily, closing his eyes tightly before bringing his hands together and the blades came down sharply. But at the very last second, the blades caught against the branch and would not press further into the plants hardened wood.
The man peaked open an eye and was appalled to find that his effort had been fruitless. His sigh was now heavy as he retracted the scissors and lightly placed them in his back pocket. He glared down at the pot, at the name Jonathan Elden, and knew to himself that the plant was hopeless and would never grow to it's true potential. He tread back toward the apartment in a somber fashion, his happy feelings of knowing and understanding completely shattered.
He closed the large steel door, typing in the four letter password: F. A. T. E. and the lock snapped back into place. The old man then moved back to his seat upon the sofa, sitting back and staring out at the sunlight now dimly lit against the horizon. He lifted his hand up to eye level and noticed the wrinkles and lines creasing throughout his palm and fingers, the leather feeling of his rough skin, knowing full well that these were supposed to be there.
Age was a process that everyone had to live with, and the more wrinkles and lines you receive, the more age is apparent and tangible. Almost like a measurement of time, even if he was living in a place out of time and space altogether. He knew he had the power to revert his age back. Back to a time where his skin was silky smooth and there wasn't a single ache in his fingers. But it was the rules and regulations he was to abide to that made him experience time just like everyone else, one life after another in an endless loop, always to do his duty to the constant growth and nurture of the bonsai trees. And if he was to ever veer from his committed work...
The name Jonathan popped back into his head. If he were to let all the trees grow like that it would create all sorts of chaos. But was the plant really growing into such a bad thing? It was still beautiful in it's own way, more colorful than any regular bonsai could be. What if....
He looked up to see the small bonsai upon the coffee table. A new sprout was growing from the end section of a branch, in a way that was unusual and irregular. The old man grunted as he dug out the pair of rusted scissors from his back pocket. He directed the blades toward the small stem, maneuvering so that he could get a clear cut at it.
And in the instant he began to clip, he wondered if this was really the best choice to remove this stem....

And in the very next instant, the stem fell to the tabletop and he had completely forgotten exactly what it was he was thinking of at all.
He shrugged wearily, lifted himself up and shuffled over to the cabinet drawer the scissors had originally came from. He gently placed them in, closing the drawer behind him and moved to his bedroom for a good night's rest. After all, he needed to prepare himself for another full day of work tomorrow.