Original Story: The Pebble and the Flower
Dec. 20th, 2009 04:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
imaginary_goluxThere was a pebble, once, which fell in love with a flower; but the flower was young and beautiful and would not hear of love from a plain little brown pebble, for it dreamed always of the great yellow sun, which it thought was a giant flower in the sky.
The pebble had been around for a while and knew that the sun was not a flower, but a huge hot thing that baked the soft mud to clay and the frail flowers to little shriveled brown nothings; and though that could not harm the pebble, because it was only a pebble, it was terrified that the beautiful little flower would grow into the sunlight and be burnt to nothingness. But the flower wanted nothing more than to be always in the sunlight, and was constantly striving to grow out of the little patch of shade that covered it and bask in the sight of the great yellow flower above.
The pebble begged every day that the flower not grow into the sunlight, because it was scared that the poor flower would die; but the flower only laughed and replied that the pebble was jealous of the beautiful sun, and wanted to keep the flower from its happiness. So the pebble was very miserable as the flower grew ever taller and more enamored of the sun.
There came a day that summer when the sun was particularly hot, and on that very day the flower finally grew fully into the sunlight. The poor pebble watched in horror as the flower gleefully raised its pale petals to the sun; and as the long day went on the flower browned and drooped in the heat. As the sun set, the dying flower wept, and the pebble at its foot wept too.
At length the flower said, “O Pebble that loves me, if only I had listened to you! For the great yellow flower is cruelly hot and has burned me away to a husk of my old self; if only I had remained safely in the shade with you!”
The pebble replied, “O Flower that I love, if you had listened to me you would have always dreamed of the sun, and moreover surely you would have died anyway at the end of the summer when the world becomes cold and white.”
“Yes,” said the flower, “but sometimes dreams are better than reality; and had I but lived a little longer I might have been content to die. Nevertheless, O Pebble, I am dying; all of my sap has been leeched away by the cruel heat. I wish I had let myself fall in love with you, who always tried to protect me.” And saying this, the flower crumpled to the ground and curled its dry stem about the pebble.
All the rest of the summer the pebble lay in the embrace of its beloved flower, and all through the fall and the winter, when they rested beneath a cold white blanket, until in the spring a nearby stream overflowed and swept both pebble and flower away, and no one knows where they landed.
The pebble had been around for a while and knew that the sun was not a flower, but a huge hot thing that baked the soft mud to clay and the frail flowers to little shriveled brown nothings; and though that could not harm the pebble, because it was only a pebble, it was terrified that the beautiful little flower would grow into the sunlight and be burnt to nothingness. But the flower wanted nothing more than to be always in the sunlight, and was constantly striving to grow out of the little patch of shade that covered it and bask in the sight of the great yellow flower above.
The pebble begged every day that the flower not grow into the sunlight, because it was scared that the poor flower would die; but the flower only laughed and replied that the pebble was jealous of the beautiful sun, and wanted to keep the flower from its happiness. So the pebble was very miserable as the flower grew ever taller and more enamored of the sun.
There came a day that summer when the sun was particularly hot, and on that very day the flower finally grew fully into the sunlight. The poor pebble watched in horror as the flower gleefully raised its pale petals to the sun; and as the long day went on the flower browned and drooped in the heat. As the sun set, the dying flower wept, and the pebble at its foot wept too.
At length the flower said, “O Pebble that loves me, if only I had listened to you! For the great yellow flower is cruelly hot and has burned me away to a husk of my old self; if only I had remained safely in the shade with you!”
The pebble replied, “O Flower that I love, if you had listened to me you would have always dreamed of the sun, and moreover surely you would have died anyway at the end of the summer when the world becomes cold and white.”
“Yes,” said the flower, “but sometimes dreams are better than reality; and had I but lived a little longer I might have been content to die. Nevertheless, O Pebble, I am dying; all of my sap has been leeched away by the cruel heat. I wish I had let myself fall in love with you, who always tried to protect me.” And saying this, the flower crumpled to the ground and curled its dry stem about the pebble.
All the rest of the summer the pebble lay in the embrace of its beloved flower, and all through the fall and the winter, when they rested beneath a cold white blanket, until in the spring a nearby stream overflowed and swept both pebble and flower away, and no one knows where they landed.
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Date: 2011-11-07 04:51 am (UTC)-Ellie
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Date: 2011-11-07 12:20 pm (UTC)