there live the sweetest girl in town, pouring the pumpkin patch with the fake rain she had created, skipping through the carrots and tomatoes not a single worry dangles. chatting, catching up with all the townies that passed by. Sitting on the front porch steps alone, with her nose in a book, being as odd as possible, making herself known. Always, in that particular time of the day there would be a man, a boy, different ones every day. Bringing her a bush of flowers, as pretty as her name, Lily.

They live the fanciest girl in town, perfectly done here and flower puffed in her face. spilling pretty things out of her thin lips. With gowns costs more than a house and eyes shining for a shiny things. Her favorite visit would be the perfume shop, where she could smell like anything she wants, though she rarely changes her sense. Unless, she ran out of her favorite one, the one she always pick, with the best smell, in a pink bottle, with a scent as expensive as she is, Peony.

Then there’s me do a young pathetic. Farmer with goats smell, ordering my body. Nothing could be less special than me. But since I brag all about them, I got one or two things to brag to. I own the biggest flower field in my backyard, a field, separated with a small path, separating the lilies and the peonies.

They’re always been a thing about this town and flowers. They say the woman who found this land was a “flower goddess “it sounds seemingly dumb. She was named that all because her repeating pattern of fashion choices, and the fact that she can properly take care of a plant.

Here, flowers, don’t grow as the grass is beneath us. It takes a sand, a sprinkle of water, a book, a powder, and two missing posters for two fields of flowers, to glow on fluorescent under the light of the flower goddess.