A Bedtime Story

There once was a flower in a field
It was a flat field, no mountains or hills
Just a carpet of green grass and a flower in the middle

This flower was beautiful, like none other
Red, green, purple, any color someone could ever want
It stood strong in the field, unyielding to any gust of wind, refusing to change its stance

Like all beautiful things in the world, however, people wanted it
Men in armor, some in plain clothing, fought over it
Swords crashed together and maces smashed into bone

There was one warrior who sought to win the flower a different way
He walked slowly towards it, side stepping all the dead bodies and continuing battles
He was allowed to do this as he was not seen as a threat, easily dispatched later

Through blood and bodies
Through ruined grass and broken shields
Through dying gasps and last curses

He continued walking calmly towards the flower in the middle of the field

When he reached his beloved flower, he knelt down to pick it up
His glove was off; this thing of beauty could not harm him
The grass around the flower was red with blood, its splendid green ruined

His hand stopped when he saw the grass
Something this beautiful caused so much ruin and despair
With one swipe of his dagger, the man cut the flower from its stalk

The flower died, some petals falling off as it hit the ground