The old woman held my sleeve, her dark eyes smouldering.
I froze, perplexed and somewhat uncomfortable. I’d come to the bazar specifically for flowers, but among the narrow streets and courtyards I’d gotten lost. There hadn’t been anyone around for ages and now this.
‘Well?’ She grinned a rotten smile, her face tanned and shriveled like worn leather.
My first instinct was to pull free. To pull free and run. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was spellbound by the intoxicating scent trickling from her stall. Cascading, pungent aromas just as striking as the beautiful flowers decorating her walls. The colorful petals swayed alluringly in the wind, drawing me in. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, instantly transported to a faraway place of wild, unbroken beauty.
‘Do you know him?’
Torn from my reverie I shook my head.
‘But you are looking for flowers, yes?’
‘Yes.’
You see, I love flowers. I come from a long line of horticulturists. In fact, my village is famous for it. We host a biyearly competition for the most beautiful blossom, drawing people from all over the world. Since I started, I’ve always finished top three, having come second in the last four competitions. What’s worse, my neighbor, that bitch Karen is the one keeping me from the grand prize, having won the last six competitions. Her skill is legendary, she’s constantly lauded. It’s maddening. It’s not fair!
That’s why I came to this bazar, my obsession having chased me to the most remote regions on earth in search for the perfect blossom.
‘Show me your most beautiful flower,’ I demanded.
The old woman shook her head.
‘Tell me the purpose of your flower first. Purpose breeds beauty. A perfect blossom without meaning is impossible.’
I told her.
The old woman’s eyes lit up. She licked her dry lips and rubbed her hands excitedly.
‘I have special flower just for you. Gifted to me by a mystic long ago. Plucked from the divine garden lost to men.’
Tall tales weren’t abnormal in these bazars. Fantastical objects, always magical, always priceless, but still ready to be bartered away for a couple dollars.
And yet, I felt goosebumps listening to her tale.
‘How much?’
The old woman shook her head and waved away the wallet in my hand.
‘No price. Except know this. That man. The man who smells of sunflowers will come.’
I frowned and glanced at my watch. My flight would leave soon. There was no time for this superstitious nonsense.
‘You accept?’ The old woman asked.
‘Sure.’
After concluding our transaction, the old woman grabbed my hand.
‘My people believe sacrifice is needed to bring out true vitality. It has long been a custom for this particular plant. In order to bring out its bloom a drop of your adversaries’ blood. Blood is nectar of the gods, only then will flower bloom beyond wildest imagination.’
I smiled awkwardly and nodded, if only to get the old woman to let go of me, turning around as soon as she did and high tailing it back to the airport.
Back home I immediately got to work. Potting the seeds, carefully concocting a perfect mix of fertilizer and nutrients.
Two weeks passed and nothing. No flower. No bloom. Not even a tiny sprout. The truth slapped me in the face. I’d been swindled.
The next days passed in a mix of fury and gut-wrenching anxiety. And though I still had a greenhouse full of flowers I’d carefully cultivated all year, timed to perfection to bloom during competition weekend, it was not enough.
Every day, going and coming back from my salon, I drove past Karen’s house. This time she’d even refrained from using a controlled greenhouse environment. Instead she’d transformed her lawn into a single, breathtaking flowerbed. A rich tapestry of color abuzz with life and fragrant vitality. None of my flowers could compete. It was unfair. Like comparing Monet’s gracefully dotted style to those done by a finger-painting toddler. And all that she’d freestyled, not just braving the outdoor weather conditions, but seemingly bending them to her will. Every time I drove by a cold hand reached into my stomach twisting my innards more and more.
And then it was here.
The Friday prelude to competition weekend. And just as she always did Karen came to my salon. Beating me wasn’t enough. She needed me to doll her up to do it first. Karen sat in silence for a while, leaving me to cut and pluck away. I like working with hair because its upkeep is not all that dissimilar to gardening. You have to bring out the full beauty of what’s there while pruning away the unwanted parts.
As it always did our conversation turned to pleasant gossip. Down the road Tara’s 16-year-old daughter got pregnant. It seemed the apple had not fallen far from the whore tree. And Sarah from the post office heard from her cousin, who’s a nurse at the local hospital, that Tara had come in looking for information about abortions. The scandal! Like I said, pleasant enough, until it wasn’t.
‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’
I let slip a quick glance in the mirror. As our eyes met the edges of Karen’s lip twitched into a sly smirk.
‘I am. You?’
Karen shrugged.
‘You know I’m not sure. Since I’ve won so often I wanted to try something new this time round. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not using a greenhouse this year. I just planted some flowers in the yard and hoped for the best.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
Karen shrugged once more.
‘I just don’t know if it’s good enough this year.’
The absolute gall of this woman! Trying to play it cool, like she didn’t know just how majestic her flowers were.
‘I suppose it depends on the competition,’ I replied through pursed lips.
Karen chuckled.
‘You know I came by your house the other day, but you weren’t there. I couldn’t help but take a look inside of your greenhouse. I guess I’m not the only one taking it slow this year- auw!’
Karen pulled away while covering her ear, leaving me standing there awkwardly with my bloodied scissors.
‘What the hell!’
‘I’m so sorry!’ I stammered, snatching a pile of tissues from the box and handing it to her. ‘I must have slipped.’
Karen dabbed her ear and flinched. She turned towards the mirror to inspect the damage. The cut was not deep.
After apologizing profusely, she let me finish and left without saying a word, but I didn’t care. My attention now entirely focused on the bloodied scissors. Immediately after Karen left I closed shop and went home. The old woman’s strange words rang through my head. It’s not like I really believed them, did I? But then again, why not give it a go? I carefully mixed Karen’s blood into the flower pot and went to bed.
I’ve always been a light sleeper, so it was no surprise when I woke in the middle of the night. But I soon felt like something was off. Although the air felt unnaturally humid my body was shivering. I wiped the sweat of my clammy skin deciding to go downstairs for a glass of water.
There it was, waiting for me on the kitchen table. No longer an empty pot, but the most beautiful flower I had ever seen. A graceful, flawless stem sprouting about thirty centimeters into the air. White silky petals like spun moonlight, their geometric patterns encompassing a ruby blossom. It burned the dark like a divine fire.
Exhilarated and jubilant I began jumping up and down victoriously. Not only was I going to win this year’s competition, but I’d just sprouted a flower of such flawless beauty that I felt sure it would change the world.
Giddy with glee I stormed outside. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow. The time for Karen’s humiliation was now.
As I ran down the road I spotted something weird floating in the air. Yellow granules drifting in the dark. Spores of some kind.
Pollen.
Coming from Karen’s house.
As I approached, my nose crinkled. A foul smell filled my nostrils. Sour, like a field of wilting flowers. But not just any flower, no. This had the distinct smell of sunflower.
But the pollen did burn, instantly irritating my skin. Thankfully I’d pulled on a hoodie before storming outside. I pulled the hood deep over my face and hid my hands my pockets.
I got to Karen’s house and rang the bell repeatedly, but nobody answered. After waiting in the dark a couple of moments I crawled over her fence and jumped into the back garden. I knew she usually kept the kitchen door open.
As I stepped into the kitchen it felt like I’d set foot in a swamp. The air was heavy, difficult to breath, clinging to my skin like a sweaty film. Slimy vines crawled along the floor. They’d stuck to the walls, flailing like black tentacles, inching forward towards the door. The kitchen was abuzz with mosquitos, flies and other vermin which swarmed me as I entered. While I stood swatting them, I failed to notice a vine contorting around my ankle, until it began crushing my foot.
I yelled in pain, but luckily Karen’s kitchen knives were nearby. I grabbed one and hacked away at the vines slimy flesh. The tentacle instantly retreated followed by a deafening screech coming from upstairs. Its high pitch tolled through me like a struck bell. The vines back away, allowing me entry to the living room which was saturated with more pollen.
It burned my skin, producing painful boils and bumps. I grabbed a towel from the table and tied it around my face before following the vines upstairs. The air grew thick, devoid of oxygen and I began feeling lightheaded. I kept fruitlessly swiping at the mosquitoes as I made my way forward.
Karen’s bedroom had become an area devoid of all sanity. Endless vines stitched the air, sprouting massive leaves interlocking into an inscrutable canopy.
I felt a shiver run up my spine. My body felt heavy.
‘Karen?’ It came out like a miserable squeak. I cleared my throat, imbuing my voice with as much strength as I could muster. ‘Karen!’
All at once the vines began to vibrate and the room trembled. Then the massive green leaves pulled away like a curtain revealing what lay inside.
In the center of the room emerged the source of all foliage, a humanoid mass of twisted and contorted skin, resembling the texture of withered bark. Cracked wounds oozed with sap, nurturing swarms of insects crawling and feasting on the decaying flesh. But among the unfathomable horror I saw beauty. All over its head grew delicate flora, a tapestry of vibrant petals with vivid hues that defied logic and demanded my eye. These grotesque bouquets of unnatural beauty seemed almost luminescent, with a pair of sunflowers of the purest yellow growing in the sockets that once contained eyes, mocking the darkness that surrounded us.
I couldn’t help myself. Once again, a familiar fury took hold. For a moment I felt burning jealousy. Once again, I’d been eclipsed. Once again Karen had given birth to beauty I could not obtain.
With the knife still in my hand I stormed forwards, but the creature’s sunflower eyes sensed my presence and once again the room vibrated, and its withered lips peeled back, revealing the depths of a gaping mouth from which erupted another deafening screech, rousing forth the insects from its flesh. Twisting and turning, my arms flailed through the air, but I had no choice.
They chased me down the stairs and outside, all the way back to my own house.
Now I’m in my bedroom, writing this story while I can. Sitting in front of the mirror with a huge smile on my face. Since most of the boils have burst the itching is gone. If only you could see how beautiful I’ve become…
But you will.
Even now I can still see a cloud of pollen drift towards town. Towards the thousands of sleeping tourists who will take my gift home with them.
So, let me ask you. Do you know the man? The man who smells of sunflowers?