Nettle & Mimosa

A writing exercise about plants.

First plant is Stinging nettles, with 3 characteristics: "1. It stings. 2. It grows in packs 3. It leaves a mark on your skin."
1st Prompt: How it got to be the way it is.

Life is tough. It puts you in weird places mostly, and doesn't ask whether you like it or not. It rarely leaves you alone, in a blissful quiet spot where nobody bothers you. If you don't want to be with others, it puts you right next to a crowd of them. And if you don't want to be touched, it will put you in a very busy spot, with crowds passing by and brushing on you, ruining your day. So that's why I sting. You see, I need to defend myself, you come too close? I sting! And I'll leave my mark on you, but don't make a fuss, it only lasts for a short time, while what you do to me stays with me forever. Somebody even says that if you hold your breath, I'll be totally harmless, but honestly I wouldn't try. Don't say I didn't warn you!
You see, the thing is I don't like any of you. You brush on my leaves, and that gives me the creeps. You see, I need to shelter myself from your grabbing hands, so I put up my sweet toxin and you get lovely blisters, that'll teach you. Because if I don't do it, you bastard, you will discover that after you catch me and rip me off my stalk, deprive me of my roots, I'm actually delicious with butter and rice, and you'll come back for more. And more. And more. So I will not tell you - never ever! - that you need to leave my leaves alone, and catch me by the stalk. And I will not reveal my weakness to anyone. Blisters to you all, and just leave me alone! My flowers are not for you, they were never meant to be. I'm here to serve myself and to remind everyone that coming too close is something you will pay for. Sometimes just with a blister, more often with your life. So stay away, and no one will get hurt. And if you ask why am I always right on the edges of your path, I have no answer to that: wasn't me who put me there. Wouldn't be there if I could choose.

Second plant is Mimosa, with 3 characteristics: "1. Makes you sneeze. 2. Given unrequested. 3. False symbol."

2nd Prompt: Mimosa and Nettle meet.

I particularly hate those yellow, nasty, fluffy flowers. They come out at the start of spring, unrequested, uninvited. They hang up there and give off their awful smell, and the ones coming by stretch their arms to grab them, and in doing so they step on me. So I sting, and they curse me, as if it was my fault! Those nasty yellow flowers give me the creeps. They rain their stinky pollen on my head, making me all yellow while I love being green! And today, a naughty boy came by, looked at both of us, started laughing wickedly, and grabbed me by the stalk - who the hell told him?! - and went over my head and grabbed the nasty flowers too, and of the many things he could do, he made a bouquet! Hiding my leaves among the yellow filth! Oh what a lovely gift! I wondered who it was for, while I felt my strength wane. If I only had the power to speak, I would have told him his wicked plan was not going to work. But I couldn't: I was dying, my toxin was losing its power, and the most he could get from giving his unwanted gift to someone (who probably deserved it) was a couple of sneezes. Because, you see, once you take me off my roots, once you snatch me from my stalk, I'm just good for rice, or to make your hair soft. All my power is gone, and my life was for nothing.
Those revolting flowers told me, as only plants can say: "Don't worry, I will avenge you!" And so it was that my last spark of life was sacrificed to a trick that would never work.
Avenged by those fluffy yellow balls... I'd have died of shame, if I weren't already dead.

3rd Prompt: Begin or end with "All that remained unmoved was the earth"

So I was really out of the picture, as I said. Don't ask me how I could still be telling my story, that's not a question I can answer. The nasty flowers were brought to a girl, whose only fault - I came to know by that particular all-knowing quality the dead tend to acquire after their time has come - was having been too pretty and too shy. And too allergic, too. As soon as she was presented the surprise bouquet, she blushed. Then she blushed more, and her eyes got watery, and her voice broke as if her lungs had all of a sudden refused the air the right of entrance. The wicked boy was expecting blisters on her face, her beautiful, gentle face, as she'd lean on the flowers to smell them and find my leaves in there, and receive her punishment. But as I said, I had already lost my strength, and departed from this world, and my vegetable spirit was just hovering over the scene - do you think that's your exclusive power, you silly humans?
Soon the wicked boy ran away, unable to contemplate the consequences of his actions, and she turned purple, then blue, and eventually gray. What a precious flower she could have been, what a most rare one! And before I knew, I saw her joining me floating above the scene, still puzzled, looking down at herself, trying to go back and being unable to. The nasty flowers were weeping in remorse. The boy was far, still running in shock. All that remained unmoved was the earth.