Petal People
“Please!” My voice was laced with urgency as the remaining color drained from my withering flowers. I had just picked the last vibrant, blue rose from the thin vines covering my body, and planted it in the soil. My limbs were no longer adorned with the precious blue petals that I cherished so much. The villagers stared at the lone flower protruding from the dark ground of Town Square.
***
 Petal people, flower folk, plant pals–no matter what we were called, we used to be beautiful. Once we were known for the delightful roses that grew from our body. Once the colorful shades of flowers from all the villagers were picked and shared by all, as a sign of unity and love. Once the hues of the roses mixed and mingled to the point where it looked as if a rainbow had grounded itself on land and made a home here. 
Until one day people began to lose their color and flowers forever. 
Now we ostracize the petal people who have lost their petals. Now we hide our roses away in order to preserve what little colorful ones we have left. Now the colors are separated into distinct factions of hues, and we do not mix or mingle.
How did this even happen?
The rain blurred my vision as my boots dug into the soft soil, as I walked to Town Square. The smell of the earth mixed with the aroma of rotting flowers was a harsh reminder of what so many people have lost. I had not seen a red, white, black, yellow, pink, lavender, or green rose in months.
I walked past neighbors’ cottages, hearing what I first thought were the cries of a wounded animal. Now, I knew it was the sound of stifled sobs. Another family lost all of their petals; a mundane occurrence. I hurried on, wanting to move away from the distinct sounds of pain.
As I neared the Town Square, I stopped in my tracks, a shiver working its way up my spine, and tingling my face. It was the corpse of a shining white rose, marred by dirt and weather, laying against the dark soil. Someone must have lost their first flower. Unintentionally, the tarnished rose was now laying atop a multitude of colorful lost petals, forming a type of diseased rainbow. Just then, one of my own blue petals fell on top of the dead remnants of flowers. I was out of time. I picked up my boots and quickened my pace to Town Square.
I hated what the petal people had become. I hated how everybody was in so much pain, but no one was brave enough to do anything about it. I hated how people were suffering in silence because those who lost their petals were shunned, and the people who still had petals looked the other way. I hated the aroma of dead flowers because it felt like a funeral everyday. And most of all, I hated that the loss our village had suffered caused us to break up into divisions. I hated our village not being whole.
The villagers who assembled for the monthly town meeting stepped aside as I walked through, trailing blue petals into Town Square. I looked at the fertile soil, and back at my friends, family, and the people who once celebrated the vibrant and various colors of roses.
“Don’t you want to see a rainbow of colors again?” I implored.
The villagers’ faces contorted into looks of confusion.
“We got too caught up in the survival of our own hues, that we forgot that while we are beautiful on our own, we are magnificent when our colors mix. Everyone is terrified to sacrifice what little roses they have left, and give them to others. But we will never be united if we continue living this way. So, I will be the first.”
***
I dropped to my knees, the soil digging into the now colorless skin underneath my fingernails. I let the rain fall onto my closed eyelids, while the image of the lonely blue rose marinates in my mind.
        But then, the unexpected happened. One by one, the villagers picked one of their precious flowers from their vines, and planted them into the ground surrounding the first blue rose. First, my family planted their own roses around me. Next, the villagers with lavender roses gave up one of their flowers. By the end of the day, Town Square was filled with an abundance of blue, lavender, red, white, black, yellow, pink, and green roses. No one had seen this much color in months.
        The garden in Town Square became a place where flowers can grow, and everyone can enjoy the beauty of the roses–even those without color or petals. The rainbow of color was only made possible because of the small sacrifice every petal person gave, with the intention of creating something more meaningful. Petal people, flower folk, plant pals–no matter what we are called, we are beautiful because as a village, we are united.