Flash Fiction / write / writer / Writing

The Daffodil by L.A. Murphy

          It was not that she didn’t like chrysanthemums, but they certainly weren’t her favourite. The daffodil, that was her favourite. Belladonna Rose had told her husband this once but seemingly he had misheard and had on every special occasion presented her with the chrysanthemums instead. She had taken them happily because he was Artemis Rose and Artemis Rose was the prince she had always wanted.
          Artemis Rose. Kind, sweet, adoring, intellectual, well travelled, well versed in the great literatures and ever so generous in ever manner imaginable. He’d never raised a hand to her the way the other women’s husbands did and on occasion he had even commented on her perfect hair and succinctly cinched waist. She had the most beautiful dresses and their home was the envy of the street. He had hired a cook and a maid, a cleaner and a butler so her days didn’t have to be spent cleaning or baking game pies. Artemis Rose liked his wife to smell of flowers, not grease. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like the chrysanthemums, they were simply not her favourite. Lilies, even violets would have sufficed, but no, the daffodil was her favourite and she had told him once, she had.
          Unlike other men however, Artemis Roseha permitted Belladonna access to his library. He preferred a woman with whom he could engage in conversation. The best of both worlds he would call it, a dainty flower with a sharp mind. And so it was that she spent her days with her nose in book learning geography and the sciences, reading the great literatures and studying the many languages associated with with Artemis Rose the polyglot.But despite her efforts, he always seemed one book ahead, one language, one map. But such is a man’s place, such is the place of Artemis Rose. But a gentler man could not be found and he always encouraged her with new lessons and engaging principles. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like chrysanthemums, but tulips may have been a better option, even daisies.
          On his frequent travels Artemis Rose had brought her the most stunning surprises. Diamonds from Africa, golden charms from Egypt and the richest spices from India. They had dined on delicacies that only a handful of people had had the luxury of tasting. He often invited their friends to supper and made shows of affection. Light kisses to the cheek, light brushes of the shoulder and hands held high, of course the ones laden with diamons and sapphires. Oh how they gushed those friends of hers, men and women, Belladonna was truly the luckiest darling around. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like the chrysanthemums, she hated them and everything they represented. A life lead by a man who had never produced a single daffodil.


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