Once upon a time there was an Old Florist who owned a small flower shop in an even smaller town. He, more than anyone in this town, loved flowers. He loved them ever since he was a boy when his mother taught him everything there is to know about flowers. He worked hard and saved his money until he had enough to buy his own shop and once he did, he filled it with every kind of flower one could want. Especially roses!
Although the Florist had his many good, profitable years with his floral shop, recently he had fallen on hard times. Business was slow. People found other more unique ways to spend their money instead of flower arrangements. The Florist fell behind on his rent for his floral shop going on three months. Times were hard. Until one day, a strange, cloaked Woman came into his shop and told him she had something that could change his fortune. Something magical.
Now, the Florist wasn’t usually a superstitious fellow, but he dreaded losing his shop.
“What is it?” The Florist asked.
The Cloaked Woman opened her hand, revealing rose seeds in her palm. All of the seeds were green, except for the one in the very middle, which was a sparkling black.
“Listen to my words well,” The Cloaked Woman said. “Do not disobey a single instruction. Plant these seeds in a rose bed by the window of your shop with the black seed in the very middle. Water them. Give them sun. Wait six weeks.”
“This doesn’t seem very magical,” The Florist said.
“Ah yes,” The Cloaked Woman said. “The black seed in the middle, treat it best. Love it with all your heart. If you do, you will learn to speak its love language and it will speak back to you and bring you good fortune and wealth.”
“A flower speak?” The Florist chuckled.
The Cloaked Woman did not laugh. Instead, she placed the seeds into the Florist’s hand.
“When business has returned,” The Cloaked Woman said. “And you’ve found your pockets full with money and the flowers in your shop sings to the heavens with happiness, it is then and only then, that you must sell the black rose. Do not disobey a single instruction.”
The Florist watched the Cloaked Woman exit his floral shop. He stared down at the seeds in his hands confused. Although he was hesitant, he did as she said and within a matter of weeks, business had returned to normal. Flowers were all the rave in this small town again.
Three more weeks later, the roses the Florist had planted had finally bloomed. There were ten beautiful red roses surrounding a single sparkling Black Rose. The Black Rose sparkled like it was bathed in glitter sitting underneath the sun. In between the chaos of dozen of customers, the Florist would always stop and gently rub the Black Rose and say:
“Good little rose,” The Florist whispered. “I love you dearly!”
“I love you more,” The Black Rose whispered back.
But, although the Florist loved the Black Rose, the other roses did not. The Black Rose would try to whisper to the other roses, but they wouldn’t whisper back. The other roses leaned away from the Black Rose and often left it sitting by itself. When customers would come in, they would notice the rose bed the Black Rose sat in, but they would completely ignore the Black Rose and give all their affections to the other roses that surrounded it. When they would acknowledge the Black Rose, they whispered things like “ugly” or “unusual” or “too different.”
And so, the Black Rose sat all alone. Ignored and invisible. Day in and day out. The only one who paid any attention to the Black Rose was the Florist, but even that faded. The busier the Florist got, the less the Florist spoke to the Black Rose. Time passed and the Florist stopped speaking to the sparkling Black Rose altogether. Then, one by one, every red rose that surrounded the Black Rose was sold, leaving the Black Rose rose even lonelier than it was before.
The day came when the Florist’s pockets were filled with money and the flowers sung to the heavens in happiness. On that day, a young bronze-skinned woman named Love walked into the shop. The Florist came over to her in a hurry.
“Can I help you ma’am?” The Florist asked.
Love looked around and spotted the sparkling Black Rose. Immediately, her eyes widened.
“Yes, I would like that one,” Love said.
“Uh, that one? You’re sure?” The Florist asked.
“Yes, I’m very sure,” Love said.
“Let me go grab something to wrap it,” The Florist said as he walked away.
Love walked up to the Black Rose and rubbed it gently.
“You see me?” The Black Rose asked.
“I see you,” Love whispered. “You’re coming with me!”
The Black Rose was filled with joy. The Florist watched them interact from behind the counter with rage and jealousy in his heart.
“On second thought ma’am,” The Florist said. “This rose is not for sale.”
“But your sign said-” Love started.
“There’s been a change of heart,” The Florist interrupted. “Now, please, if you will."
The Florist ushered Love out of his shop as she protested. The Black Rose watched Love leave in sadness. The Florist lifted the Black Rose from the dirt and put it into another pot, then walked it into the backroom of the floral shop.
The backroom was dark and cold. It was here the Florist left the Black Rose. The Florist turned to the Black Rose as he was leaving.
“I’m sorry,” The Florist said.
The Florist slammed the door to the backroom shut. The sparkling Black Rose sparkled no more. In the darkness of the backroom, the Black Rose was colorless. It was merely a rose. And there it sat, lonely and ignored until it withered away and died.
Customers stopped coming again and business soured. This time, the Florist watched the doors to his floral shop close forever. Somewhere deep down in the Florist’s heart, he knew he should’ve let go of that sparkling Black Rose, but he couldn’t. Now he, like the rose, died lonely and ignored. Invisible to all.
