The rainbow country

The sun peeped over the edge of earth to see, if darkness was already awake. Just like every morning, darkness roused from her slumber and made room for the overflowing light. Skipping, hopping, and teasing, the light flocks started tickling to stir up, grasses, leafs, flowers, insects, dogs and cats; so all that is living. A chirping and cooing, a yelling and humming clung to the air and whirled up towards the sky as morning greetings. Limbs stretched themselves, yawning snouts opened and poked out their tongues to slumber.

Also in Middleburg, in the garden of the little red cottage of the family Jolly light elves jumped roguishly among the blossoms.

The flowers on a little patch, on the left side of the entrance, shook themselves, lifted their heads to the sky, and stretched out their leaves into the glowing of the sun, so they could catch as much shining and warmth as possible.

Enticed and caressed by the beam fingers their petals unfolded themselves to a corona. It seemed, as if their iridescent colour wanted to compete with the splendour of the sun.

Sky-blue the sun tinted the dome of earth. No cloud opposed the light.

The little honeycomb door of the house opened, Mrs. Jolly stepped out, humming a melody. Deeply she inhaled the flickering scent of spring in the air. Pleased smiling she glanced at the sky and her eyes expressed approval. She observed the trees, the plants, and the flowers of her garden with joy and pride.

As her view came to the patch of flowers, surprise and ardour jumped to her features.

“Eric!” she yelled out towards her husband in the house. “Come here, quickly, and take a look!”

Eric Jolly’s head popped up in the doorframe and peeped out curiously. “What’s wrong? Are the flowers going for a walk?” he asked waggishly.

“No, no! Look, there in the flowerbed! That blue flower among the red ones. That’s impossible!” she said excited and delighted. “I have never ever heard or read that this kind of flower blooms blue.”

Speechless and fascinated Eric gaped at the flower.

“Now, come on, you wag, say something!” Mrs. Jolly urged him.

“Crazy, crazy, crazy!” it gushed and trickled out of Eric’s astonished mouth. “It’s a sensation. And it’s in our garden. Totally crazy!

„You know“, Mrs. Jolly said, „we have to put this on the newspapers. All should enjoy with us a thing so marvellous.”

With this decision and a last enraptured view of the flower both returned into their house.

The red flowers on the patch had followed attentively the conversation, and each one had filled up herself to the limit with water and puffed up herself, because each one thought, she were this exceptional phenomenon.

Subsequently they all deflated. Firstly, because they had not been anything special yesterday and things do not change over night. And then, if one of them would be something special, something singular, something unique, something totally new, then she would be alone.

The others who were similar would turn in on her, shun her, and be suspicious because of her difference.

This extraordinary one was a danger for the others, because she made them comparative. Good and bad, better and worst would be distinguished.

Fear caused the small heads of those who had just budded overnight to drop.

Faint-hearted and shivering some brave ones lifted their heads to face the other ones.

“Do I look like you?” they asked each other anxiously.

“I don’t know how I look like”, the answer sounded poorly.

“Look at me and then look at the others!” one said keenly. “Do I look like the others?”

“Yes, yes!” the addressed rejoiced and added with trembling voice: “Do I also look like them?”

“Yes, you do?” was the releasing response.

Rapidly the comparison of each one to the others spread out. A cackle of relief crackled through the patch while one by one passed the inspection until the wave reached the edge of the patch, and one yelled and subsequently others immediately joined in the chorus: That one! That one! She doesn’t look alike us.

The little blue flower was discovered. A sting of pain had penetrated her during the outcry. The gruff malicious inclination of the others towards her let her freeze.

“Hit the road! Get away! You don’t belong to us”, they yelled until they realised that she just as well as they themselves could not change position.

“Cut off her water supply”, one shouted. ”Stretch out your roots and take away the nutrients. Bend yourself over her. Shield her, so that not a single beam reaches her. We have to eradicate her with root and branch, before she can reproduce herself. Otherwise, she and her kind will displace us from our territory and they will conquer our space.

Eagerly the red flowers stretched and arched themselves to a dome over the blue flower.

Shuddering fearfully, without understanding what was happening to her and why they were attacking her, the little flower withered.

The following day a dewy-fresh morning awoke, shook off the sleep, and puffed the darkness away.

Mrs Jolly, cheerful as always, opened the little honeycomb door. The aroma of coffee poured out with her when she, exited to see how the blue one had prospered, stepped into the garden, and immediately turned to the flowerbed.

“Eric”, she screeched weepy, “look at the little flower, how faded she appears.”

Mr Jolly, who stepped outside, looked gravely. “Oh, poor little creature”, he muttered.

“Can we still help her? Can we rescue her?” Mrs Jolly asked caringly. Something so extraordinary, so beautiful should not just disappear without being seen by many. Come on, Eric! Do something. Hurry, hurry!”

Eric Jolly, with an earnest expression, bent himself over the flowerbed and sadly dug up the blue flower.

“Hey, look out! Don’t dig me up, too”, one of the flowers next to the blue one turning towards Eric bellowed: “She’s done! Take her away! She’s polluting the air and occupying my space.

I wonder why these aliens always have to stink.

Hey, guys! Hello!” she shouted to the others. “Take a look! They have removed that alien from our patch. Thank God, now we are again among equals.”

Eric took the little flower into the house, where his wife potted her up. She watered and then posed her on top of the windowsill into the rays of the smiling morning sun.

“She’ll recover, Eliza”, Eric said. “You’ll see, within a few hours she’ll be blooming and beaming again.”

And really, with every hour, if not with every minute passing by the little flower picked up. There, where before the roots had grabbed into the void, now water saturated with salts, phosphates, and calcium flowed, which they sucked up eagerly. There, where the weight of darkness had bent her head, now the sunshine rouse her face, and she felt as if she were flying.

The following days the little flower flourished splendidly. She enjoyed the caresses of the sun, the visits of the bees and the butterflies, and the tender words of Eliza and Eric Jolly. She was light-hearted and merry. Many neighbours of the Jollies came to see her, and she sparkled in the “ohs” and “wows”.

Then, one afternoon, as no bees and no butterflies visited her, and the Jollies had gone out, she felt the sensation of solitude arising within.

For the first time the little flower became conscious of being extraordinary, that next to her there was no other one that looked like her or was related to her. There was nobody who felt like she felt, with whom she could share quotidian adventures, like the view of a rainbow. There was no other little flower, which could mirror her appearance, with which she could compare her joy and sorrow.

Yes, there was much more then being nourished. But, not for her, because she was exceptional.

This discovery made the little flower grow sad, and she wished herself back to the patch, back to the company of the others, who were not identical but at least similar to her, even if it would be only for a short while, even if it would cause her death.

The little flower stopped taking up water. She stopped turning towards the sun. She let no bee and no butterfly approach her. She averted from the Jollies when they spoke to her.

“Eliza”, Mr Jolly said, “I don’t now what’s happening to the little flower. She’s got everything she needs. There aren’t any bugs, which could trouble her. Nevertheless, she is fading.

“Oh, poor little being!” Eliza sighed.

One morning the little blue flower did not awake anymore. She had dreamt to be on a meadow, where the rainbow spills out of the soil, and surrounding her there were thousands of flowers dressed in all possible iridescent colours, which fed the rainbow. All flowers were different, which made them alike. The others had turned towards her, and they had danced together in the sun. At last, she was at home.

And she had remained there in the rainbow country.

End (1. option)

(Prolongation)

Sadly, Eric had taken the little flower into the garden, and buried her next to the old gnarled apple tree.

During summer, autumn and winter Eliza and Eric very often remembered the miraculous little blue flower, which had given them so much pleasure.

Spring glided again amid the blades of grass, trees and shrubs, made the leaves sprout up, and painted the landscape in multi colours. Bird-songs and bee-hummings woke up the day, while the sun leaped light-footed into the sky.

Eliza Jolly, high spirited and as usual humming a melody opened the honeycomb door. With pride and delight, she looked around.

“Eric! Eric!” she shrieked. “Eric, hurry! It is unbelievable! “

“What’s unbelievable, Eliza?” Eric, who already stood next to her, asked

“Look! Over there! Under the apple tree“, Eliza indicated.

Eric’s eyes grew wide and he gapped.

Beneath the gnarled apple tree, where he had buried the little flower, five purple coloured flowers were standing, lifting their faces into the sky.

“Have you ever seen such a thing?” Eliza asked. “First blue, now purple. Isn’t it marvellous? Our little flower has returned accompanied by her new family.

Mr. Jolly was still staring astonished at the splendour of the blossoms.

“Come on, Eric, say something!” Eliza urged. “Express yourself!”

“Great, fantastic, stunning”, skipped out of Eric’s mouth. “Or, as our grandchildren, Denise and David would say: cooool!”

End (2. option)