Tragedy of a Sweet Flower
((this is an altered rendition of Ama’s story that I did for a competition where I had a limit of 1200 words- wanted to share it here!!))
Once upon a time there were two people, a man and a woman. They loved each other terribly much and the two of them were very happy. They both were extremely wealthy, the man being a very  successful and charismatic businessman and the woman being a very popular and kindhearted heiress to a magazine company. The man and the woman built a house together on a hill, where only a few other of wealthy society were building their houses at the time. The man wanted to impress the woman and so he built the house of her dreams, and he granted her the one request she wanted the most: a beautiful flower garden, housing all of the flora that money could buy. The man and woman lived more than comfortably in this house of theirs.
Soon, they got married and then they added a third member to their family. The child took after her mother, with smooth fair skin, thick chestnut hair, and bright cerulean eyes. The woman named their little girl after her favorite flower: Amaryllis. She was the most darling child and was the perfect addition to the couple. Young Amaryllis took after the woman in more than just appearance as she grew; she acquired her mother’s kindhearted soul and love for flowers. She spent many a day during spring and summer in her mother’s garden, watching her arrange and take care of all of the plants; during autumn and winter, the woman would spend her days reading to her daughter and enriching the girl’s imagination and pure heart.
Unfortunately, not long after the girl’s 6th birthday, the woman became very ill with an ailment that medicine just could not heal. Dear little Ama’s mother passed away within a few short months. The man, who had grown increasingly busy with his work since the marriage, took his wife’s demise very poorly. He grieved her deeply; he detached himself by delving into his work at an astounding level. The young Amaryllis would rarely ever see her father, if at all, for the next few years, though when he did come home, he cared very little for her. He didn’t even take the effort to send her to school. In fact, it seemed that the man was apprehensive towards his daughter, and every time he would return to the house he built for his wife, he saw Amaryllis, and only grew angrier. The man channeled his rage and grief towards his only child, and the day came when it took a physical form in him.
Sweet little Amaryllis, now nine,  was waiting by the door for him, as usual, and greeted him with a soft, “Welcome home Father!” Before the poor girl had time to react, the man reached down and smacked her across the cheek, hard. She reeled backwards, shocked to tears. Amaryllis gazed upwards at her father’s shadowed face, confused and hurt, and this only ignited his fury even more.
He gripped her arm firmly and pulled her aside. “Don’t look at me like that!” he hissed. “You have nothing to cry about!” Pushing her away, he stalked to his bedroom, leaving Amaryllis with a bruised arm and a broken heart.
She did not understand why her father was so angry with her, nor did she try to stop trying to gain his affection. Amaryllis kept trying to please her father to gain his love and care. Day after day, month after month, year after year, she persisted, though increasingly more shy and timid with each attempt. The man did not accept her appeals however, and he unwaveringly held onto the memory of his lover, his most beautiful flower, without care that he bruised the petals of their own seedling. Poor Amaryllis had  barely a heart left to take the damage.
The final catalyst occurred after Amaryllis had turned 12. It had not escaped the man’s attention that his daughter was bearing resemblance to his late wife, which only added more fuel to the fire. One fateful day, the man returned from his work at noon and found the house empty. He wandered to the back where he saw a vision of his wife tending the garden, happily caring for all of the flowers. It was then that the man realized that it was not his wife he was seeing, but Amaryllis. The man saw red and fiery passion coursed through his veins.
“How dare you share her face?! How dare you steal her life?!” he seethed as he grabbed a brass fire iron, which gleamed like gold, from their outdoor fireplace. He stalked towards Ama, raised the poker above his head and struck her. “You’re nothing!”
This time, she was agile enough to avoid being struck directly in the chest, but the fire iron still made a large gash, spilling her crimson blood on the white flowers she dropped. Amaryllis gazed with terror at her father, who had a crazed glint in his eyes. With a rush of desperation, she bolted up and past the man, who swiped at her again, grazing her back which caused her to cry out in pain.
“Get back here!” the man growled, stomping after his daughter. Amaryllis had no where to go but she knew that she had to escape in fear for her life. It was no easy feat for her, especially while wounded, to run out of the house and down the long hill on which the house was built. The young little flower did not dare to look back, and she just kept on running. It took 30 seconds for her to reach the bottom of the hill, and with each passing second, a drop of blood spilled behind her. At the last moment, on the thirtieth second, she turned her head around to try and see if her father was still pursuing her, but in that last moment the Fates had acted with blaring horns and blinding headlights.
Amaryllis lay on the pavement with blood pooling around her body. The magnificent petals which bloomed from her spilled life thus became a woeful memento of the man’s sin. How odd that he wept for her after screaming for her demise. How ironic that only now did the man see his daughter as worthy of his love. Alas, Amaryllis’ poor kind heart was finally healed in death.
