Those things nobody hears about..

[Charles]

In the middle of a lush, green forest, there lied a bright little outcropping, full of pearly white daisies. They fed on the soil and drank from the sun, basking in it’s warmth, living a relaxing life most would envy. But there was one flower, directly in the middle, who was not satisfied with his consummate lifestyle. He felt small and weak, overpowered by the tall trees growing around him. Every night, under the star-splotched sky, he would wish to be taller, and every day he would stretch out his stem, with the hopes of growing. And one day he finally did grow. And he grew taller and taller each day, his slender green stem holding up his yellow face, reaching out towards the sun. Months passed by, and soon years followed, the daisy growing ever so slightly with each minute’s pass. His life seemed to be going good, until one day a blind little bird flew by, nearly cutting him in half. Luckily, all the little flowers below warned the big daisy, who dropped his head just in time for the bird to pass by. And everyday that little bird would fly by, and everyday the little flowers would warn their friend. But over the years, the daisy’s petals grew long and wide, soon blocking out all the sun below. The little flowers were painted grey and started to die, crying while their little bodies shriveled up and crumbled to the ground. They begged they flower to shed some light, but all he listened for was their shouts of warning, only shouting in hopes for a little sun in return. The tall flower, vain and proud, ignored them, and soon they all died. And when the last little flower, grey and lifeless, crumpled in the spring wind, the little blind bird flew by once more. The big daisy did not hear a warning, though, and looked out anxiously, but by the time he noticed the bird, it was too late. His elegant petals were to large to move and the bird ripped through his stem, causing an explosion of green threads and white petals. And along with the flaky snow, the head and the stem, narcissism still flowing through the veins, toppled over in a swift and graceful manner. And although the sun still shines in that little spot of Eden, not a single daisy grows.