Don't Trust the Wildflowers

Warning: death.

Spring came along as it always did, and fresh pollen stuck to the earth like snow, to the delight of many hard-working families. For the unique ranching town of Fawndale, this would bring new life, sunnier days, abundant crops, and warnings to keep out of the flower field. Surrounding the area was a dense growth that sprouted gorgeous flora on the first of May each year, but everyone who had ventured into the growth never came out again; they just vanished and left no evidence behind. Any previous rescue attempts have only led to more people becoming lost, and it was impossible to cut through. The sharpest tools in their military's possession couldn't even slice through these brambles, and the government responded by turning their back on them and telling everyone else to steer clear, but that's not surprising.

Most Fawndaliens would also avoid and ignore the field because they felt nothing more could be done to stop people from walking into the field; their council had proper warnings posted and a radio broadcast which repeated, "the flowers will kill you," but more people always went missing in May on both sides, because the flowers could be difficult to resist for some. Their petals were made of many vibrant, bold hues, and a heavy pheromone scented the entire area as they bloomed. If you were unaffected, all you could do was not think about the ones who couldn't stop themselves. Parents would do everything they could to keep their children from wandering off, but it was even harder to keep their elderly parents. Most would have to choose to keep only their children, as it was impossible to reason with a stubborn elder convinced they must be with the flowers.

You may have asked yourself why they would stay with such dangerous plant life surrounding their home, but the grounds within the field were impossibly fertile. Their crops were successful and plentiful; they were always the most stocked at the farmer's market, and they sustained their farm animals without aid. This land was bountiful, despite the danger, and everyone was fed. They were simple folk and genuinely grateful for this. Perhaps the flowers were their exchange for always having food, like God's way to keep the balance, or it must have been a deal with the devil, because nothing about the flowers should be physically or scientifically possible, so they continued to ignore it, because there was nothing to fight.

32-year-old lone wolf, Gerald, thought he would be fine ignoring it until now. He wasn't married or raising children, and he cared for his ranch alone on the smallest plot of land, which he had only purchased four years prior, and it suited him just fine. He wasn't satisfied with his fancy communications degree and high-paying office job in the city where the rent was triple the mortgage cost of farmland, so he had decided to put his savings into something sustainable and what would be a worthy commitment and a fresh start. He never believed the flowers' pheromones could get to him, since they mainly affected children or the elderly, but he smelled them with every breath in, sickly sweet like molasses. When he closed his eyes, he could only see visions of the field.

He lasted ten nights before he couldn't fight against the temptation any longer. Now he would drool as he thought about them, and the smell settled like a thick sap in his lungs. A paralyzing need to drown all his senses in the flowers became more palpable. He was neglecting his chores now. At this rate, his livestock would die, and he wouldn't be making money at the Autumn farmer's market, nor would he have any produce to feed himself. No one knew or cared for him here, so what was the point of fighting it? Perhaps he was an easy target due to being without a family, and maybe they wanted something both strong and wise to eat, like the firefighters they consumed so long ago.

He started his preparations by giving leftover food rations to his animals and leaving their gates open so his neighbors could help them after he was gone. He didn't think animals were affected by the field, as none showed signs of wanting to wander off, so he felt it was safe to leave them out. He then carefully left out totes of his possessions on his porch, so the ones chosen to live could use them. He looked at his humble ranch one last time, and felt grateful for the short life he spent here in exchange for the stressful years he spent in sales, then he gave his loyal and grumpy Basset Hound a goodbye scratch, and headed off towards the field of wild flowers. He removed his clothes, folded them nicely, and placed his shoes on top. He knew no one was watching him, and the gesture felt right. He then entered a break in the dense foliage that scaled three times his height.

Death was the easiest thing Gerald's ever accomplished. The brambles crushed his body instantly and absorbed every physical drop of him through the earth's soil. It only took a second for him to relinquish his mortal coil and be joined with Mother Earth's bosom. In death, we learn more than we ever could when alive, because we won't have the luxury of ignoring what's unfolding around us. His consciousness blended with bone and soil, and he tapped into the flower field's data, the coagulated minds of all the other sacrifices. Yes, that's exactly what we're meant to be. We feed the earth, then she will feed us, and our bodies will become a part of the rich soil after our souls pass on and rejoin her loving embrace. Maybe we were right to ignore it while we lived, considering all the good it provided for the uninformed, as we learned. This was the true circle of life, and he felt lucky to be a part of it.