Florizel was majestic, and all the other flowers admired him immensely. Every morning he stretched out his bright red petals to face the rising sun, drawing gasps from his neighbours.
‘Nice weather we’re having,’ said Averago, gently unfurling his smaller and duller petals in the shade of Florizel. Averago and Florizel were best friends. They had known each other since they were seedlings.
‘The warmest day so far this year,’ replied Florizel. ‘The warmest spring in a generation, with an average maximum temperature of 25 Celsius.’
‘Is that a fact?’ muttered Averago, swaying in the warm gentle breeze while studying a small number of wispy white clouds in the distance.
One evening, as they were preparing for nightfall, Florizel leaned towards Averago. ‘Did you know that bees can flap their wings 250 times a second? Butterflies manage 20 beats a second,’ he whispered.
‘I did not know that,’ answered Averago.
The very next morning, Averago opened his petals and felt bright sunrays beating down on him. He was no longer in the shade. Hearing faint whimpering sounds from below, he looked down and saw the decaying body of Florizel lying on the ground, surrounded by tearful seedlings.
‘What happened to daddy?’ sobbed one of the seedlings.
Averago was distraught; he didn’t see the end coming. ‘Why did he give up, when he had everything to live for? Why didn’t he talk to me, tell me how he was feeling? One word would have been enough. There’s always hope. I feel for those who are left behind, children without their father. Oh why didn’t we talk?’