There was once a girl with a flower for a mouth.
Everywhere she went, people would smell the scent of her flower.
Sweet words would flow out of her throat like syrup coating a dessert.
People would gather to breathe in her aroma.
She felt proud of her distinct feature, so she always talked, always stayed out.
However, after some time, people got used to the scent, and even started to grow tired of it.
It wasn’t special anymore, it became a regular occurrence, one that became irritating to them.
So when the girl started to talk, they ignored her.
When the girl came closer, they avoided her.
The girl, confused, looked around the room full of people who used to surround her, now not even sparing her a glance.
They no longer wanted her.
She wasn’t good enough anymore.
After a few weeks, the girl grew restless.
She craved the reaction people used to have towards her.
Craved the feeling of pride and love she felt from those that would compliment and stay close to her.
The craving grew unabareable, and she decided to run away.
To find more people, new people, who would appreciate her and enjoy her presence.
And they did.
Everyone in her new home surrounded her, as she would draw them in by her scent.
She would make them stay with her words.
She felt needed again, and she wouldn’t stay alone for a second.
Not until a petal rots and falls from her flower.
The people stared in shock, just as she did.
They grew concerned, while the girl grew frightened.
The girl ran away from them, and hid herself in the bathroom, staring into her reflection.
She had been so busy talking she forgot to maintain her flower.
She forgot how delicate the petals are.
How much care she should put into her words.
The next day, the people waited for the girl to come, only to be disappointed as she never did.
Nor did she come see them the next day, nor the next.
When she finally came back, her flower had wilted.
Her petals were dark and shriveled, and the scent was barely there anymore.
They asked her what happened, and the girl did not even acknowledge them.
The girl finally spoke, and her voice was hoarse and unclear, each vibration sending petals dropping to the ground.
“I ruined everything. I damaged it. I let you all down, I’m sorry”
Tears fell from her eyes in slow streaks down the sides of her face.
And that’s when they noticed her cheeks.
They were decaying.
The flower that had rooted itself into her face from birth, spreading nectar through her soft skin, is now spreading poison.
The girl turned and left.
The next time people heard of her, she had went back home to where her mother is laid to sleep, and she buried herself next to her.
Two flowers who had suffered the same fate, the vicious cycle of sweetened words.
© Grinchy