Flower In The Valley

In a cold valley between two mountains, there was a single bright flower. It was an unusual flower, not because of any physical defect — it too had the perfect beauty gifted to all flowers — but because it bloomed late. As its brothers and sisters passed in the autumn, it emerged from the soil. It was not until early winter that it flowered. And with each passing day, it suffered, losing a bit of its color to the lonely cold. Even as it paled though, it stood out as the sole red flame on a cold canvas of white sky and white earth.

There also lived a family in this valley, though it was the only one: a mother, a father, and two kids. Their life was a burdensome one, because life in the valley was tough. Sun and food were scarce. The whole family, even the children, worked all day — chopping wood, tracking game, hunting food. This was particularly imperative as the year turned to that last gray season. In the darkest days of the winter, there would be no prey to catch. They had to stockpile food now.

The children had been sent out by their parents to collect much needed rations, when they walked by the plain where the flower resided. At first, they trudged towards it hoping it was the blood of some slain and forgotten animal, an easy meal. But as they inched towards it, and its shape grew clearer, their curiosity grew. Although they had been wary at first — a harmed beast might be alive still, and dangerous in its desperation, so they had approached slowly — they ran towards it once they saw it was a flower. Filled with wonder, they grinned. A flower in the winter! They danced around the blossom, as if taking warmth by its color and its reminder of a warmer time. Then they plucked it, and took it home.

When the children arrived back at their cottage, it was night. They had between them not a single piece of food to add to the stores — only one lowly flower. Their parents were furious. They yelled at the kids for shirking their duties and made them sleep outside, denying them the warmth of the fire. Before they left for their frigid vigil, their mother snatched the flower from them and threw it to a snowbank outside their window. Between their tears, they could not see where it had been flung, and the flower was lost.

In a way, perhaps, the parents had been right; they did face a harsh season. In the depths of the winter, the days grew darker. Food ran low. Tensions ran high. For some reason, lost to time, the children and their parents got into a heated argument. Ultimately, though, it was driven by the starvation and the lightless cold. There was screaming, and then the children left the house, running deep into the valley.

At first, the father did not pursue to bring them back. Although it had begun to snow, he was too angry to think straight. Let them run, and be cold, and come back knowing that he was right. But they did not come back. And the snow fell harder. And before long, a full blizzard had kicked up. By this point, reason had trickled back to the man. Seeing his wife beside herself with worry, and seeing the cold, cruel weather outside, his heart thawed and he went to look for his children. He could not find them.

In the thick of the snow, the children could hardly see around them. They were wrapped in a mirthless sheet of symmetric white. Every direction was the same, and the wind had shuffled the snow and erased their footprints. Their anger gave way to fear. The tears that ran down their cheeks quickly froze.

As the snow was whipped by the winds, the flower had been unearthed, and was carried about by the breeze. The man had just about given up his search when he saw it. Suspended in the air, it clung to his memory like a last reminder of his children and the terrible mistake of his anger. The flower had made them so happy. Why couldn’t he have been kinder to them then?

When the wind began to blow the beautiful red thing away from him, he ran after it like a mad man. It was one of those senseless things that people do in desperation — a movement born of pure passion and instinct. The flicker of red in front of him led him deeper into the storm.

The children had just about given up, and reached the state of tiredness where the tears ceased to flow. As many people put into circumstances far harsher than reasonable for their age, they suddenly acted like much older people, achieving a sense of acceptance of their fate and place in the world. So, when the flicker of red drifted into view, they took no consideration of exhaustion or hopelessness. They simply took off after the one beautiful thing they had found in the bleached expanse of life.

It was a miracle that the man found his two kids, and once he did, he led them back home. It was a hungry winter, but they didn’t argue after that. And once the spring came, their father smiled and allowed them a day to go pick the red flowers that had bloomed. In a cold valley, between two mountains, it was a single bright day.