the flower with the technicolor petals dictates the garden. the others try to change their colors, or exchange them with other flowers. bald, naked; their envy stresses them. the stem thickens, and the wind bows them to the ground threateningly, as if holding their face, at the neck, into the dirt and suffocating them.

their petals start to yellow and brown; now the technicolor flower is a magnificent centerpiece amidst a gathering of cadavers. it forces them to tend to it’s needs, ration their water, as it wrests all moisture from the soil.

the plot looms like a storm cloud on the horizon, but it is welcomed by the mass in relief. they gather and sway, as if pushed by an unfelt breeze, plucking the petals from the technicolor flower. dividing them up, and flaunting with headdresses, they proclaim their strength in numbers.

the crime of beauty can be found in it’s procession of tyranny.