A Story of Flowers -- "Bouquet".

A flower sat in the middle of the table. Or rather, it leaned, in a tall glass vase. The flower (who happened to be a tulip) was watching the other flowers' nodding heads in their midday nap. Birds chirped cheerfully from somewhere through the open window. Tulip noted drowsily that someday she might like to venture through that window.
A soft rustle caught Tulip's attention, and she turned her head just the slightest bit to see what was going on. She sighed in disappointment; it was only Carnation - that cheap thing! - having a one-sided conversation with Rose. If Carnation thought that if by leaning against Rose she would be able to steal some of her glamour and sophistication - well, she would just have to learn the hard way! Carnation was always trying to pull some shabby trick like that. Tulip supposed she couldn't help it; it was just the way she was bred. Rose, on the other hand, with her long elegant stem and gently blushing cheeks perfectly epitomized the very essence of "well-bred."
The sounds of children through the window momentarily distracted Tulip: "Lucie! Give that back! Lucie, I'm warning you --!" "You can't catch me!"
Tulip exhaled, irritated. Children these days! She could remember through her roots when children were nice and behaved, and wore little frocks and trousers. They certainly didn't go running across the lawn screaming like savages. Tulip longed to have been grown in those days. Such refinement. Such sophistication! If there was anything Tulip wanted, it was sophistication.
Daffodil was singing quietly to herself on the other side of the vase. She saw Tulip looking at her and waved one of her darling yellow petals in a salutation. Everybody loved Daffodil. How could they not? Sweet, charming, silly - perhaps a bit childish - she was a pet favorite of most flowers in the vase. Only Carnation snubbed her, and that was because Carnation had a terrible case of envy for anyone who was in the least bit popular.
Daffodil motioned for Tulip to look at Baby's Breath. Baby's Breath was sleeping soundly against Daffodil's stem, her many petals fluttering in soft snores. Tulip smiled in spite of herself. She was such a little darling!
Tulip sighed and tilted her head a little over the vase. Her stem was so sore from being tied up in that flower shop; the hours and hours she had waited, hoping that someone would pick her - see that she was something special - had finally gotten to her. And all that waiting in vain! She, in the end, had been stuffed into a bouquet along with a dozen or so other flowers and sold to a portly middle-aged lady with four children.
This was Tulip's third day in the house, and she had begun to become accustomed to - even grow fond of - the four children. The eldest, a surly seventeen-year-old boy, mainly stayed in his room with that awful music blasting, but the other three, although a little rowdy, were simply sweethearts.
Tulip supposed she was lucky to share a vase. It was spring and she could see all the little buds being stepped upon and squished by all the children's running feet. Still . . .to be free . . .well, it was almost worth it, wasn't it! She could just barely smell the fresh air through the window and feel the slightest touch a cool breeze upon her petals, and it pulled at her soul to be cooped up so.
Little Fern woke up sleepily beside Tulip, her small leaves clenching and unclenching as she adjusted to her surroundings. Tulip smiled benevolently down at her, savoring this moment of quiet. Fern looked sweet now, but Tulip knew it was only a temporary stage before she really woke up and began whining. That was the trouble with ferns. Such detestable whiners! Still, better than the carnations, she thought. Sunlight filtered through the open window, bathing Tulip in warmth. Sunlight was a vase flower's equivalent of a shower, cleansing and relaxing them as water would a person. Tulip sighed with pleasure. It had been a very long day.
She looked back at Rose (that divine creature!) and Carnation. Carnation had finally stopped pestering Rose and fallen asleep. Tulip supposed that Carnation really wasn't that bad until a dreadful snore reached her ears. What an indignity! Tulip shuddered.
Rose saw her looking over at them and raised a soft petal in a graceful greeting. Tulip raised one of her own respectfully in reply. Rose, talking to her? It was a moment that would have to be saved to relate to children and grandchildren in years to come. She glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. Daisy had, and she saluted a petal in an acknowledgment of the fact.
Daisy was a mystery to Tulip. Not in the favored crowd the clustered around Rose, but not in the rejects (a small group mostly compounded of wilted, broken and unknown flowers that had accidentally been slipped into the perfect bouquet) either. No, Daisy was somewhere in the middle, more of a floater. She was not at all like her cousins Sunflower and Black-Eyed-Susan, however - those rough, tomboyish flowers! They were tough ones all right; everyone knew better than to mess with them.
But everybody felt safe going to Daisy on a hard day, always assured a comforting shoulder to cry on or a well of advice to draw from without the slightest hint of teasing or sarcasm. Daisy was just plain nice.
Tulip sighed again, relishing the sunlight on her stem. That same old longing for freedom rose up in her again. She resisted it, telling herself that she was happy and safe living in the vase - and a very nice case, at that! But it didn't work. Tulip could almost feel the wisps of grass swaying by her stem and feel the tickle of a bumblebee's wings across her petals. It ached at her most awfully.
After a few moments of idle daydreaming, Tulip suddenly heard a voice - the mother - call "Lucie? Close the window for me, would you dear? It's getting a tad chilly out." The window creaked once and was shut. It was better this way, Tulip convinced herself. This way she wouldn't be teased by the brief glances of independence. Still, it didn't make the ache go away. If anything, it worsened it by the sheer knowledge that it was there - out of reach, out of sight.
Tulip caught Daffodil gazing wistfully at the window also. The look on her visage was of pure honest longing. When she saw Tulip staring though, she straightened her stem and looked away as though nothing had ever happened.
With the window closed and no new breezes coming in, the room began to slowly get warmer and the sunlight more sleep-inducing. Tulip fought an oncoming wave of drowsiness.
Rose had already succumbed to slumber - attendants hovering over her waving their leaves as fans. She saw Daisy's head was gently nodding too, and Daffodil had relaxed against the rim sleepily.
Tulip took a deep shuddering breath. Sleep pulled at her, insisting that it would do no good to resist. Wriggling, she tried to pull away, but it had her safely in its grasps. Oh, that felt so good! Maybe she would take a little nap, just to get ready for tomorrow. After all, it would be another long day.


The End.