Another limited word story! This time I stuck to 500 for my own sanity. Why? Because “We’re a crazy boys!”
Here it is. I base this story on this picture…
The hopeful little sunflower on the grass-covered hill woke with the morning and marveled at the grandiose sun. Her rays comforted him. Her light filled him with a warmth he’d remembered from his sapling days.
How fortunate I am, thought he, that she would come out for me.
Yet when he called out to her, she ignored him. Her intense focus was seemingly on her invisible track, and no adoring fan—no, not even the hopelessly begging sunflower—could sway her.
When night came, she was replaced by the broken moon; a thinning crescent apparition in the blackened sky. She could offer no warmth. Only share her blanket of stars, which spread for miles.
“Look my way little sunflower,” she said, “for no one ever gives me the time of day. Everyone is too busy looking away when I come out to play.”
But the sunflower found no comfort in the moon. No heat. Or golden rays. He ignored her until eventually she was out of his sight. In the chill of her night he was left still, and weakened. Where is my sun?
When he looked to the sky again, he saw only gray. The heavy clouds had come to spread their rains.
Go away, he wanted to say, you’ve taken the sun from my day.
He shook off the droplets and spat them upon the grass. How could he feel warm when all he felt was wet?
The waters receded and the grass was fed. And the hopeful little sunflower started to fill with dread. His petals were cracking, and his stem became brittle. He needed his sun; of that he was certain.
Until again came the moon, looking more emboldened in her half-lit gaze upon the sunflower.
“Won’t you please look my way, little sunflower,” she started to ask, “for I know what ales you, and I’m up for the task.”
But the hopeful little sunflower wasn’t so hopeful anymore. He cast his face to his hill, where the grass around him grew. Where there was once hope, he now felt only hate. Hate towards his sun. Who is she shining her light for now?
Though he didn’t have to wonder for long. Out she came, brighter than she’d ever been. Only now his love for her was missing. Instead he felt pain under the heat of her rays. His petals had wilted, and his stem had shriveled up. She warmed him until he broke, and then laughed as she went on her way.
When the moon returned to see him, she cast the fullness of her light upon him. But it was too late. For the hopeful little sunflower had fallen.
“I was always there for you,” she cried, “so why didn’t you listen?”
Her tears formed on the grass, and as they dewed, they started to glisten.
Still, the hopeless, beaten sunflower looked away from her. For she was not his sun. And nothing—absolutely nothing—would ever make her shine as bright for him.