It is my fault to be pretty

I am a flower, a daisy who used to live on top of a mountain. I lived among other daisies, some grass, and a few trees. Life as a daisy was very peaceful and enjoyable. Every morning I woke up and gazed at the crystal blue sky; it promised me another day. The sky would darken later on and the stars would say goodnight to me. I lived on a lonely hill, not many humans visited it. I liked it that way. I felt safe on the hill. I felt safe knowing that I had the grass, the trees, and other daisies around me. I felt safe knowing that the sky was blue and that is promised me another good day. I felt safe when the stars said goodnight to me and when the sky would darken. I liked living on the hill…correction, I loved living on the hill. One day the sky didn’t wake up crystal blue, it was

One day the sky didn’t wake up crystal blue, it was gray. I saw people on the hill. The people walked over to the other daisies. I watched someone pick one of the other daisies. The human couldn’t hear her shriek, but I could. Her shriek sounded like nothing I had ever heard before. It sounded like fear and then defeat. It was a young boy who picked the other daisy. I heard the second boy ask why he had picked the daisy. The boy responded, “The daisy was so beautiful I had to pick it”. The other boy nodded and said, “ You’re right, the daisy was basically asking you to pick it”. The two boys just laughed and walked away. I was mortified. How could they do that? How could they just pick a daisy? Didn’t they realize that the daisy had a life? How could they think that the daisy was asking for it?! ASKING TO BE PICKED?! WHO WOULD EVER WANT TO BE PICKED?! I made sure that I guarded myself after that. I tried to make myself dirty when people walked by. I didn’t want to look appealing. I didn’t want people thinking that I was asking to be picked. My life on the hill lasted a little while longer after the incident took place, but one day that ended.

I guess I didn’t put enough dirt on my petals. I guess I didn’t try hard enough to hide. I guess I looked too pretty. I guess that I asked for it. I was picked. I was taken away from the hill. Now my petals are no longer white; they are are starting to turn gray. I no longer see a blue sky. I am no longer promised a new day. I no longer hear the stars say goodnight. I can feel my life fleeting from my stem each day. My life ended once I was picked, but I guess I have no one other than myself to blame. I was a pretty daisy. I asked for it.

The post It is my fault to be pretty appeared first on Ravindra Naik.