Tag: Photography

Lilies, lilies everywhere, but not a rose in sight. It looks across the field of humans and sees not a single red angel. The lilies all are quite beautiful, and the stingers extend all around them, everywhere they walk, they are followed by the stingers. Too many stingers.

Its stinger follows, but not its cardiac muscle. It is looking for a rose. A single, beautiful rose.

            Years and years it looks for this rose, years and years it searches. It finds some tulips, and it mistakes them for roses in a moment of lust, then it will realize they are nothing but tulips.

            Every once in a while a tricky carnation will imitate a rose, and attract its cardiac muscle, but then it sees the red dye, and flies away. Carnations are trouble, they change color.

            The beauty of a rose is rarely found, and needs to be cherished when one is found. It looks more and more for one, and no matter how hard, nothing but the stinger is attracted.

            One day, while it was walking alone, ignoring most of the flowers, it notices something red out of the corner of its eye. Carefully, it looks at the red flower. This one looks like a rose. It really does.

            It gets closer and closer to the flower. It inspects it carefully, hoping to not find any dye, it doesn’t.

            It admires the beautiful rose, joyful that all its searching is finished and its hopes have been fulfilled. Then something moves. Something inside the flower moves. It watches its love intensely. Someone crawls out of the flower.

            This intruder flies over to it. He sniffs, and it sniffs back. He likes it. His pheromones are kind, and it begins to see him as a friend.

            We travel away together, away from the flower, but not before he lets the flower know he will soon return. It has a slight burning pain in its stinger.

            The flower smiles.

            We spend the day flying above the town. We observe the lilies, and it watches him turn away in disgust. It cannot blame him when he has a rose of his own. The pain in its stinger grows hotter.

            As the day draws to a close, we return to the flower. As we get close, it smells the love pheromones being released. It begins to feel sick.

            He goes back to his rose, and craws gently inside her. There he sleeps. It flies away with its stinger hurting.

            The next couple of days are spent with him and it. We become good friends, as long as she isn’t on either of our minds. As soon as she pops into his mind, it smells the love pheromones, and fights back the hate pheromones of its own.

            One day, he leaves to go gather honey, and it can hold back no longer from being around her. It walks around the rose gently. The rose notices it and smiles.

            An exchange of simple pheromones takes place, and it loves the rose more and more with every sniff. It slowly releases more and more complex pheromones, showing off to the rose. The rose laughs and smiles. Its cardiac muscle burns.

            It has fought back the urge for so long, it cannot go any longer without doing this. It releases the love pheromones to the rose. She smells. A look of concern crosses her face. She smells again. Her face becomes overcome with a look of shock, and it smells the apologetic pheromones.

            This is when he returns. He returns, releasing his love pheromones, which mix with its love pheromones, and her apologetic pheromones, to create a foul smell. His face changes from happy to furious immediately.

            The rose looks scared, and releases pheromones asking her lover to settle down, saying that it was a mistake. It releases its own apologetic pheromones, even though it feels it should not have to.

            He would not smell any of it, and it saw his stinger protrude out from his thorax. It was trying to be peaceful, and did not want to fight its friend.

            Then it smelt the love pheromones the flower released. These were intended for him, but it smelt them as a battle cry. It imagined its friend’s foul stinger rubbing against the rose night after night, and felt a burning flame overtake its stinger. Its cardiac muscle beat hard for both love and war.

            It pushed its stinger slowly out from its thorax at the same time as it released the war pheromones. The rose looked terrified.

            He lunged at it first. It dodged well. It had seen its fair share of fights. It spun around and was prepared to dodge the next attack. He charged at it again, and aimed to put his poison into its cardiac muscle.

            It maneuvered so perfectly that it was able to sink its stinger into him. He wiggled and fought to get free, and managed to rip out its stinger. He fell to the grass and writhed before curling up and dying.

            It was hurt and crying. It had killed its best friend and was doomed to die itself. It went to the only possible source of comfort it could find, the rose it had just murdered for. It couldn’t smell anything as it crawled near. It had probably already lost too much blood. Its cardiac muscle was having trouble beating.

            It crawled weakly up the stem of the rose. Halfway up, it felt a sharp pain in its abdomen, and fell to the ground with the rose’s thorn lodged into its cardiac muscle.

            A tear rolled down its face as it allowed its spirit to blow away.