I am a sunflower.

 

 

This is unusual.

 

It is calm. The world is bright. The grass, verdant, moves as a soft wind blows across the serene, spring-tide landscape. Myself as well… my body, my leaves, my stem, my petals are moved by this breeze.

 

This too, is unusual.

 

The wind doesn’t reach me often. I am in the middle of many sunflowers. On a normal day, they would block the wind from reaching me and I usually can do nothing but listen to the soft rustling that the collection of their long, slender, fat-headed bodies makes. I am the middle-child, unseen from any angle. But today, their voices are quiet. I do not hear them. Today, the wind reaches me.

 

This is very unusual.

 

The most significant oddity is, however, the fact that I am here. That I am aware.

 

I sway, moving my many large, flush leaves up and down. My round, flat face, which is always angled up towards the bright sun above our heads, during the day, now does something unusual; it turns, as I will it to turn.

 

I will my round face to turn towards the left and it does so. There is nobody there.

 

I will my warm face to turn towards the right now, my many honey-gold petals, only now starting to begin to sprout, as the season of my life has only just begun. There is nobody there either.

 

Of the entire field of sunflowers, I am the only one left. They are all missing. They have vanished.

 

How unusual. How very unusual.

 

I ‘look’ around myself. I feel like this field that I see, this meadow, I feel like this is where my home has always been. I haven’t been moved, I haven’t been brought anywhere else. I am where I have always been, I am what I have always been; a sunflower.

 

But, for some reason, I am alone.

 

My ilk are missing. The ground shows no traces of them ever having been here. I do not know why. I do not feel their roots and I do not feel any empty cavities in the soil, where they might have just been before I woke up.

 

For some reason, I am awake, I am alive.

 

I have never been alive before, I think. It is very calm, honestly speaking. This doesn’t seem so bad. However, I also do not know why this has happened. Is this normal? Do all sunflowers come to life, eventually?

 

I slowly lift my head, looking towards the sky, towards the sun.

 

 

A shadow obscures the glowing warmth that I bask in for an instant, as something swoops down out of the beautifully blue sky, something horrible, something small, fluffy; a tiny, blue monstrosity.

 

It chirps, landing on my face. A bird. I know it is a bird. I recognize the sound of its twitchy movements. However, I scream.

 

- Calmly, mind you.

 

I calmly scream as it sticks its beak into my face and begins to rip pieces out of myself, eating my precious seeds that are still young. They need more time.

 

Ouch. I do not know what that means. Is the bird talking to me? I do not understand.

 

Slowly, I sway my body from side to side, moving as fast as I can, which is only about the pace that my body could move in, were a strong wind pushing against it.

 

The bird is unimpressed, the terrible monster continues to steal more of me, gorging itself greedily on my essence. I can only watch in horror, as the twitchy, jumpy mass bobs around in front of the space I see from, its disgusting, little birdy-bird feet clamping onto my stem, as it pecks and picks.

 

It continues to peck and I quietly scream. I do not want to bother the world, after all. It is a peaceful day and it would be rude of me to ruin that for everyone else.

 

Something rustles in the forest nearby.

 

The devil-bird flies away, chirping in fear as it is disturbed. I am rescued.

 

I straighten myself upright, wondering how I managed to survive such a terrible endeavor. Will I ever forget these twisted nightmares, freshly scarred in my mind’s eye? These images of a vicious beast, partaking of my flesh, while I stood powerless to stop it?

 

I do not know. I am a sunflower. But now I am missing many seeds. They were good seeds too. I have many good seeds left yet. But I had more before.

 

I hope some of them manage to escape and to grow somewhere nice. I would like to look at the same sun as them.

 

I lift my head towards the forest, looking at my savior. The thing breaks out from the line of tall trees. I like trees. They are strong, big and wise. I am just a sunflower, I am not insignificant, but I am not as significant as a tree. But it’s okay. I am calm. The trees are often rude, however. They like to steal the sun and to keep it all for themselves.

 

Calmly, missing a part of my face, I watch the strange thing approaching. It looks like a sunflower too, but its body isn’t green. Its head isn’t yellow. It only has two large seeds inside of its strange face, one on either side of it. They are white and round with splashes of green inside. It pulls something behind itself; a big, wooden mass that smoothly rolls over the ground.

 

How very unusual.

 

- You are an ugly sun-flower.

 

I do not mean to be rude to my savior, but I couldn’t help but think it. Their brown, long streaky petals, pulled back behind their head, do little to attract pollinators. Their two seeds, while large and significant features of their face, could never be carried away by any reasonably sized birds. In fact, I am starting to suspect, as I look at the odd thing, that it simply might just be a defect of nature. It even appears to only have one set of reproductive organs, but I can not say for sure. I am just a sunflower. We have both male and female reproductive features.

 

My savior stops in front of me, looking around at the landscape and then back towards myself.

 

I lower my head, looking at her. I am taller. Although, I would much rather be looking at the sun. Would you like to sit here with me? We could look at the sun together for a while. It has yet to rise and it promises to be a very calm day today.

 

If the bird does not return, that is.

 

The message that I sent through my roots doesn’t seem to reach her. I can’t help but notice that she, the stranger, isn’t dug into the dirt. She don’t even seem to have any roots at all. Instead, she just has the two thin trunks that diverge from her stem, pressing down against the ground.

 

I think that she is more like a bird, than a sunflower.

 

Have I made a mistake? Oh well.

 

With a meandering pace, I slowly look back up towards the sun. I am calm and the sun is so bright. Let us be calm together, even if you are ugly and misshapen.

 

A gentle wind continues to blow, catching my petals and leaves. The warm summer breeze envelops me in a gentle sensation that I have not felt since I was just a small seed, buried deep, deep, deep down in the warm, soft ground.

 

 

Oh.

 

I look back down, calmly feeling terrible, incredible, languishing pain, as I stare at my would-be savior.

 

The strange thing is down on the ground, tearing up the dirt like some kind of animal. She digs around me, damaging my roots, as she is somewhat careless.

 

This is unfortunate. I like my roots. They are wide-spread and sturdy. They help me find water. When it is dry, they go deeper into the world. When the dirt is wet, they spread out wider.

 

However, she digs the dirt away and then, I find the most unusual thing happening; I am moved. Grabbing my body and its thick, naturally plump and sturdy stalk, she pulls me and a large chunk of my roots out of the ground and places me onto the big, wooden thing that she was pulling behind herself.

 

It hurts.

 

But at least I am higher up now. That means I am closer towards the sun.

 

My roots find no water. I still have plenty left inside of myself, however. But I can not dig through the wooden thing that I am on top of. Somewhat indifferent, I lift my head, looking at the sun that is indeed, closer now than before.

 

How pleasing.

 

We move. She has returned to the wooden thing’s front and now pulls it behind herself, taking me somewhere else.

 

How unusual.

 

I spread my leaves out wide at my sides and continue to bask in the light of the glorious morning sunshine.

 

What a beautiful day.

 

 

 

 

I am a sunflower.

 

 

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