Flower

Written by Wolsal

[SOL VALLEY- 5 PA]

It was peaceful- peaceful in a way. The type of peace you took with bated breath, as if waiting for the first signs of danger. Careful not to let down barriers for false calm. 

The goat sat on the ground, large glowering trees stood proudly over him. It almost felt as if the forest itself mocked him, staring down at the goat at the front of the stage, waiting with giddy gleeful grins for the real show to begin.

Flecks of sunlight dappled his form, creating small patches of warmth from the gaslight in the sky. He took in a deep breath, feeling his chest swell with the air- the heavy scent of organic material making its way through his nostrils, only sullied by the familiar metallic tang. 

He looked down at the grass, still wet with morning dew. Beautiful deep pink flowers crept across the ground as if reaching for something beyond their reach on the other side of the forest. Vines burst from the soil, making their way up the trees and towards the sun. Sol.

He reached a cloven hand down, his claws touching one of the flowers below him. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brows in concentration. He felt a beetle crawl across his face. Focus. He focused hard on the feeling of the flower in his touch, the feeling of the crown rested upon his head between his horns. Focus. He felt a soft trickle of energy course through him- more. The trickle turned into a steady flow of power. He felt the petals shift in his hand- don’t stop, keep going. 

He felt a sickening squirming behind his eyes- malicious. Acidic. As if not by his own will, his eyes shot open, looking down. The once small flower had elongated, not in height- no. The flower head seemed to grow sideways, curving in an almost ‘C’ shape, petals growing in places they didn’t belong. Leaves split off, almost resembling a forked tail of a lizard that regrew its tail wrong.

 A smile crept into his face- yes… yes. He’d done it- he’d found one. One of his gifts. He twisted the bottom of the stem, detaching the mutated part of the flower from the rest, holding it in his hand and turning it over. 

Was it a useful power? Well, seemingly not. Not yet at least. But it was a power. And if his siblings had proved as any example, there were bound to be more. He stood up, dusting himself off with his free hand. 

As he walked towards his temple and away from where he sat, the heads of the flowers almost, ever so slightly, seemed to turn to watch him leave.