To Say Hate With Flowers

It was the largest, most beautiful, loathing and hate-filled bouquet she had ever seen.

She loved it.

Orange lilies anchored the arrangement; hatred, pure and simple. Bold, orange speckled foxglove speared upward from its center, its haughty laughter loud and pronounced. Red geraniums and yellow carnations sat scattered throughout; a sigh of disappointment coupled with a mocking sneer of distain. Yellow columbine clustered to one side, a lovely asymmetrical statement of foolishness. Tufts of delicate meadowsweet throughout whispered of pitiful uselessness. Around its base, dark begonia leaves grounded it all in a warning to beware.

The absolute distain, the carefully pronounced disgust, the hostility and hatred so delicately crafted. No poem would ever convey what he said here. No song, carry such emotion.

She wished she could have been so clever. If only there were a way to echo back the sentiment, for never had she felt so much disgust and anger toward another being in her life.

And yet, the piece that pushed her from righteous fury to frozen shock, was the single red rose at its center.

the language of flowers, romance flash fiction, historical romance short story, Nebraska flash fiction author