A loss of focus.

Felt like writing a quick story, got the prompt to write about ‘a magic flower’. I keep losing focus on the story I’m working on.. which itself has been taking focus away from the novel… oh well, enjoy!

“And here we have magicus flowericus, the rarest flower on the planet and, of course, the most expensive and prestigious of flowers. Its presence here is one of the many reasons that Flower’s Flower Museum of Flowers is the most elite of flower museums in this neighborhood.”

The tour guide waved his thin hands toward the blossom, a bright purple one with a pink center, and went on about the dangers of smelling it, and how one certainly must never ever remove the covering, even just for a laugh.

Allen stared at the petals with hungry eyes. He’d just finished with botany school and knew about magicus flowericus from long breathless nights reading Flower Anatomy and More. It was the most beautiful of the plants he’d traced his fingers over in those pages.

He clenched his fists at his sides, sweat beading on his bald head, his breath fogging up thick glasses. The bloom was too beautiful to be standing about on display in such a way; it made him uncomfortable. The long, slender stem, the delicately curved leaves, the quivering petals and oh… that cute, puckered little stigma. It rested in a sort of round, white pot–hardly luxurious enough for something so grand as magicus flowericus.

It shouldn’t be sitting there behind glass for any old pervert to look at, Allen thought, It should be with him, in his special flower room hidden behind the bookcase in his study.

“And now, moving on, up ahead we shall see the several varieties of mundanicus flowericus,” the tour guide intoned, leading the throng of viewers away.

Allen crouched back, waiting till they were out of sight.

“Yes,” he said, pressing his face against the glass, “soon we will be alone together.”

The glass covering tipped back under the weight of his face and crashed to the ground, leaving the soft pink petals exposed. Allen gasped, and snatched the curvy white flower-pot, hiding it and its softly bobbing passenger under his jacket.

With a handful of fidgets and furtive glances behind, he was out the door and heading home.

The door slammed too loud behind him as he hurried down the steps to his room.

“How was the museum, dear?” a shaky voice called from above.

“I’m busy mom!”

Allen slammed the basement door shut and hurried into his study. He heaved the oak bookcase out of the way, revealing the concealed door to his Flower Room. The small closet was packed with pictures clipped from magazines, and shelves full of various buds.

He removed magicus flowericus from his jacket, and set it gently on the center shelf.

His hands shook and his breaths came in halting bursts as he leaned forward for a whiff.

The fragrance twisted in his nostrils and cramped his brain. He let out a long, warbling groan.

“Hello,” said the flower.

“Uh,” said Allen. The cramp spread from his brain out to his limbs, his joints creaked and groaned as he tried to move them.

“It was very kind of you to breathe in my spores, it’s quite hard spreading them about with the reputation I’ve gotten.”

Allen realized with some discomfort that the voice was coming from within his own head. “Spores?” he managed to say.

“Oh yes, you took a good, strong breath of them, they are lodged in there nice and secure and ready to grow!” the flower said cheerily. It waggled back and forth in the pot; a pot that Allen just now noticed was a human skull with the top broken open.

Allan felt himself guided to the ground, where he sat cross legged. His brain tickled.

“Aren’t you excited?” said the flower. “We’re going to have a baby!”


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