May's anthology

Death of Beauty

All the flowers died on a Sunday evening, and with them, a piece of every human's soul was extinguished forever. Beauty was stolen from the world, and everyone was in shock.

No one knew why it happened. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred in the world, which in itself was odd, yet nothing that could explain the flower extermination that fell upon the planet. It was also unclear how such a comparatively small thing could have had such a devastating effect on the world.

When the human race woke up on another dreary Monday morning, their Monday blues were suddenly multiplied when their eyes beheld brown stems that used to be flowers. That one point of light that they secretly craved during their monotone days was gone, and they were utterly lost.

Yet, no one said anything.

You would have expected people to talk about it, to rage even, to do anything. Yet humankind did nothing. There was no research being done to determine the cause of such a global phenomenon, the news didn't report about it. It was as if it was too enormous a thing to be explained. Any attempt to define it was bound to fail, so no one even tried.

It was as if the humans' will to live had been annihilated in the same moment that the flowers perished. They were unable to do anything but shuffle mindlessly, completing their chores. Everything was done and yet nothing that truly mattered had been performed.

No one smiled. No one laughed. But then again, no one was sad either. Everyone just stared blankly into space before them and focused on the task at hand. As if they were mere robots doing what was written in their programming.

Before the flowers died, people didn't notice them as much as they should have. They didn't appreciate the wonderful gift that the flowers were. At least not consciously, not enough. It was something that was always taken for granted, something that would always be there. Until it wasn't.

Once the flowers were gone, it became clear how much they meant to the world, how critical they were for the survival of the human race. After they were gone, it was as if the humans had become zombies, mindlessly hobbling around. They were alive, but they were not living their lives, their heart wasn't into it.

Who could have guessed that the gentle flowers with their wonderful fragrance had such a power over the human psyche? Who could have guessed what a horrible impact their disappearance would have on the human race?

One person knew. He knew all too well what would happen, and he took advantage of it. After all, he didn't devour those odd myths and legends in vain. They gave him an idea of how to become seen, on how to become important, a legend. All that was left for him was to claim responsibility for what he had done, and the tales of his achievements would live eternally.

Never again would people forget his name or his existence. He would be a permanent fixture of human history. One chapter that could never go untold, that could never be forgotten.

Having spent all his life alone, pushed aside, and misunderstood gave him motivation and time to plot his revenge on the whole of mankind. After all, where were the heroes when he needed their help? Where were they when his heart was breaking?

It only made sense that he would become a villain and make them regret never accepting him, never loving him the way he knew he deserved. Villains were the ones who got all the respect, all the fear. That's what he wanted. After years of being invisible, he wanted to be the best even if it meant being the best villain that the world had ever seen.

His whole life, he fought tooth and nail to survive. He never had the time to stop and enjoy small things in life, such as flowers. No one ever showed him what beauty was. All he ever knew was how to suffer.

Thus, he decided to share that awful feeling of never being wanted or understood with the world. When they didn't want to share all the good things with him, he was determined to share all the bad ones with them, whether they liked it or not.

What better way to do so than to show the human race that it was unwanted even by the flowers they tried to nourish and shower with an affection which he never received. Even though they were rooted to the ground the flowers found the ultimate escape from the unwanted humans, death.

The Sunday evening, when all the flowers died was the best night in Mario's life. However, the next morning the realization hit him that erased all the joy he felt earlier. Making others miserable didn't make his pain go away. Nothing changed for him.

Nothing he did made him feel better. The dark path he had chosen would only lead to his eventual doom.

He was okay with that. As long as he managed to bring humankind down with him.

After all, wasn't that a way to become a legend, to become someone so important in the history of the world that you are never forgotten? Isn't that how scared little boys become forces to be reckoned with.