BEAUTY

1. I remember that it was a relaxing spring day. The air was calm, with no wind or breeze. We walked, my friend and I, along an isolated path. My friend, Melinda, was pretty of sorts, had long, long hair and was totally self -absorbed in her perceived beauty. I, on the other hand, was much more docile and demure. As we slowly walked in silence, I glanced up at the sky. The clouds were far from us and puffy white. We passed a lake with some swans. Then suddenly we came up to a garden of flowers. They were splendid and brilliant in color. We could smell their fragrant aroma. We settled on a bench near the flowers and I could imagine myself communing with the souls of these silent, living, beautiful plants.

Then abruptly, Melinda got up from the bench. While she was walking she pulled out a pair of scissors from her pocket. She slowly approached a patch of blooms looking closely as if searching for something. When she found the most spectacular bunch of flowers, she proceeded to cut the stunning flowers at their stems. As she damaged and marred the precious stalks, I imagined I heard the painful screams of the flowers. They were surely hurt. Melinda then tied the bunch together at their stalks with a pink ribbon, thereby making a bouquet. She brought them back to the bench and announced that it was time to head home. Before I could rise from my seat, she held up the bouquet like a trophy.

With a smile, she said, "are they not so very beautiful?"

I followed her to her house all the while feeling numb and nauseated, knowing for sure that she had inadvertently ended the lives of these beautiful living plants. Once inside her luxurious apartment, she got a blue glass vase from the cabinet and filled it with water. She then placed the bouquet into the glass container and put them on her mantle near the fireplace. They were on display. People could come and watch as these poor flowers slowly died. I thought it would take maybe less than a week. I intensely stared at the petals as these flowers tried to suck nutients from the water with their truncated stems. I imagined I heard them panicking, having acknowledged their almost certain death. I felt ill and left.

When I returned a day or so later, I glanced at the flowers. They were starting to fade in color. Their petals were wilted and they were edged with brown. This was in comparison to their sibling flowers who were left to flourish in the field where they bathed in the warm sunlight and sucked up the nutrients they needed from the rich soil.

I left without much notice. I was dismayed at the site of the dying beauties.

I visited a week later expecting to hear the cries of fear from the dying flowers. As I opened the door and walked past Melinda, my heart sank. Just as I had thought, in a week, they were dead. " They died!" I said. Melinda turned and looked at me quizically. "What?" she said. "The flowers," I said, "the flowers are dead". She smiled, "Oh, so they are" she replied. Then with a quick movement, she took them roughly from the vase and dumped them in the garbage. There was nothing but the sound of silence in the room, heavy morose silence.

"Why take something so beautiful and limit its life?" I angrily asked her. " They were beautiful. I wanted to look at them. What's wrong with that?", she responded. "Then why not plant the dislocated flowers in a pot filled with dirt and allow them their time to live? I countered. She shrugged, "why bother!" and she walked into the other room. Over her shoulder she called to me, "there are more flowers just like that in the fields". I cringed.

As I looked after her, I realized just how ugly she was. She possessed little or no beauty. I closed my eyes and remembered the true beauty of the living flowers.