“Is a field full of dead flowers barren?” Oh, the thoughts that cross my mind as I walk this path alone. The night is coming upon me and I see no home, no place to stay for the night. “Is a bed of flowers still a bed after their life has gone from here?” Oh, the questions I ask myself, unimportant ones that mean nothing and never did. I should spend more of my ever-so-valuable time thinking of famine and what not. But, maybe if the world wasn’t in such a mess, I wouldn’t have to burden myself with such things. Maybe if all of the world just took a second to look at the same dead flowers I’m looking at then maybe they’d realize that this is what’s important. That their expensive cars mean nothing, and their big houses just take up space, and their factory jobs simply pollute the air, and that every single thing they do right now has no actual meaning and that these God-forsaken flowers that are all dead and that are all just lying here in this unforgiving field are what is really important. Maybe that could happen. I wish it would. So then when I lay my head down, I wouldn’t have to hear the tulips crunch and crack behind my skull and then I wouldn’t have to cry like I am now because then the tulips would comfort me and alleviate my pain, bringing me happiness and granting me a slight sensation of euphoria. This barren field full of dead flowers is the real problem.
Until the Ink Runs OutThe Galena High School Literary Magazine Categories |