The Last Flower

The building is cold. The environment is cold. Everything is cold. I huddle closer, my wings offering a shred of warmth. There still isn’t enough. I flap up pitifully, but can’t see any end to this robot town. There is nothing left for me here. Not now. Emotions became a weakness. Robots became the dominant society. Cold metal, replacing mother nature.

We used to be the pride of the town. They called it Hummingbird Village and every year people would come over just to see us. I remember the kids - running about, laughing, under a bright sun. They would point at us as we flitted boldly to the next flower, a burst of green against a soft silky red. We would pose for pictures, and at the end of the summer, although they had to leave, we would be happy and remember them. It was the happiness that I long to see again, both in the kids’ eyes and in ours.

I see those kids now, too. They have a dull stare, and dull, cement eyes. They stare at the drab gray buildings and they do not wish for more. Green is a color I thought I would never see again, except in my own wings, which are now beating slower than they used to, as I grow older. 

I flap away from the rooftop, and then land once again on a greenhouse. A dog looks up at me. His ear flops away from his eyes, and he looks to me. He doesn’t bother trying to catch me. What is the point of animal infighting, when all of our destinies are the same?

“This place isn’t any better.” The dog said, looking at me, and frowning.

“What?” I say, caught off guard. His voice is deep and scratchy, and I don’t know what he is talking about.

“It’s not better than outside. It’s just as cold. The robots don’t care for warmth, and with their artificial heating clothing, the humans don’t need anything either. Another wave of snow blankets the buildings, and I feel the thud of snow on my wings. My wings weren’t built for this. They were built for beauty, for life, and for hope. Not whatever misery this Earth has flipped us into.

“I know. Still, the snow might not fall on me here, right?” I look at the dog, and the dog just shrugs and rolls over. There are no treats coming to him now, for the thing that humans used to once reward greatly. He growls slightly as he does it, probably from old bones creaking in the dark room.

A robot steps inside. They aren’t all build in humanoid figures, and this one has four wheels in place of legs, as well as a long grabber-arm. He extends the arm, and reaches towards the dog. The dog stands up, and bares his teeth.

“Being mean to humans is a bad decision. Baring your teeth falls in that category.” The robot says, not saying anything. His arm pulls out, and the claws extend. 

“Three, two, one, robotic process complete.” The robot grabs the dog, and pulls him by the scruff of his neck into another room. I look at the path he drags through the dust, and I can’t fathom staying here a moment longer. And so I leave.

flapped to the top of a building. The sun, once a bright white orb, is now weak among the gray clouds and all I hear is the clank of machinery. I haven’t seen another hummingbird for ages. But then - 

A bright flash of green. A beating sound I thought I would never hear again from anyone elses’ wings but my own. Another hummingbird? I zoomed up from my perch, and glanced about. Then I saw him.

A hummingbird, about my age, flying about. Unlike all the other birds I had seen, this one did not sit dejectedly. It didn’t stare down the ground with hopeless eyes. It was energetic, it was alive, and I envied him for his happiness.

“What are you so happy about?” I asked, “There’s nothing to be happy about.” I looked pointedly at the gray city. The city of robots.

“Didn’t you hear?” the hummingbird asked.

“Hear what?” I said irritably.

“Up north, there’s a beautiful green land. It is covered with wildflowers, of all colors and with such sweet nectar. The grass is lush and the sky is blue, unlike here. Color exists there much more so than it ever did anywhere else, and all you hear all day is happy birds chirping while the clouds chase each other across the sky.”

I stared, enraptured, drinking in his words. I had almost lost myself in them, and when it was over, I desperately wanted to lose myself in his words again. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep hoping just to be disappointed. 

“Have you seen this place for yourself, then?” I asked, my hostility melting.

“Yes. It is everything we ever wished for.” The hummingbird said.

“But then why would you come back here?” I asked, turning my head to look at him. But he was gone.

The hummingbird leaned away from me, and I have made up my mind. This utopia, it might exist. It’s not firm, but it’s a straw to grasp at. I would sacrifice anything, even my life, to get there. To see the green once more.

“I’m going.” I say, and the other hummingbird nods. 

“I won’t be going with you. I can’t make it any longer.” I nod once back, and fly off immediately. I look down, and I can see he’s still talking. But I don’t have time to listen to this pessimism.

I flap my wings and take off. Soaring through the sky, I dodge and weave past clouds and aircrafts.

The sky is gray, but soon, I think, it will be blue. Days I fly, in rain, storms, and lightning. The lightning seems to reach for me, and I almost get struck down. But I keep going. There is no point in living my whole life out like this, in that robot village. 

North. My whole body strains. I’m only the size of a robot’s hand, and it isn’t easy to get there. Sometimes I feel like I’m giving out, that I cannot go on longer. But I force myself. I ignore the pain in my wings, the coldness of my feet, the hunger that gnaws at me like an animal.

And then I think I see it. I remember the description of the topography. The mountain over there, the trees. I land in the north land. This is the place he described. I can tell. I can see the remains of the wildflowers, and the sky is more blue than the gray that was earlier. But the wildflowers have wilted, and the sky’s blue is a faded one; one that suggests no hope. This utopia isn’t real. It will never be real. I stare at the spindly robot that is here. It spins a chainsaw, faster and faster, and approaches a tree.

Thump. It falls, heavy upon the grass. A long abandoned nest falls down. I can see what it used to be - the remains of something beautiful. But all beauty fades, even my own. This journey, it took me the last of my strength. This is all I can make. Perhaps the fresh environment, if it existed, would have rejuvenated me back to life, would have given me a purpose. But it doesn’t exist.

With the use of some of my sacred strength, I pull over to the wilted wildflower. And then I see it. A beautiful carnation, sitting lonely upon a field of gray. Flapping my wings, I strain to make it, and I collapse right on top of the flower. A robot comes over, marching fast in big strides. 

He plucks the carnation from the ground, with me still inside of it. The carnation is dying, and so am I. And the beauty from my wings fade, and my last memory is him talking. “Three, two, one. Death.”