Passion of the Crown Flower shrub

He finds a small wieldy stick with sharp edges. He assumes it into his hands like its his proud Excalibur. He swings it; slashes and pierces the air with it. The joy that it gives him; makes him feel like a Knight so invincible; like the ones he admires from television programs and his favorite tales inspiring fortitude.

As he so valiantly fights his imagined enemy he comes across shrubs and trees. Scythes thru them as he pictures his dishonorable, helpless foe in the violent shivering of the plants being butchered. Leaves are sent flying into the air. He stops for a while to condescendingly offer a reprieve. He won’t leave him be for long.

Before he starts to render his merciless justice again, he spots a crown flower shrub.
Ah! How perfectly would that substitute the vile, despicable one he is battling!
He walks to the shrub with those decks of Purple crown flowers. Takes his time before he starts inflicting his justice upon the depraved. Slowly strokes the lush leaves with the tip of his saber, smeared green by those bushes and trees he vitiated, as he would taunt his victim.

With a swift strike, his noble Sylvan blade cut its way neatly thru a leaf. The villain stood without much movement, letting out a slow, thick ooze of his milky white blood along the finely cut line. Hurray! Exaction of justice feels even better now! Weariness from all those earlier fights vanished. Enthused by a more rewarding sight of retribution he goes on with countless slices and blows.
Severed into pieces,
the cursed shrub, suffering vicariously,
washes his sword white as it receives the wrath it isn’t worthy of.
After a while, having indulged his heroic passion he emphatically claims his victory raising his blade.

Exaltation.

Glory.

Honor.

~~~

The vanquished enemy stands savaged. Maimed. It was a massacre. With just the last of the stems left with rent ends still perfusing.

Beautiful crowns,

once hosts to suckling bees and butterflies,

Hopes of Life,

the purpose of the damned shrub’s existence,

Decapitated.

Lying asunder,

bearing witness to the slaughter,

they are bathed in their own milky sap.

At least, they are Spared from…

Becoming!!!

~~~

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Arthur_Schopenhauer