A near-withered flower stood by the fence, deprived of water, but outshone by sun. The heat and the scorched dry earth, seems to be shattering the place where it stood upon. Saddened by the fact that its near-withery petals had drew many attentions but not even one passions, the flower tilted its head lower.
Thirst for water. Thirst for moisture. Thirst for something rather than standing by the fence. The flower had looked around for more than a quarter of its life. Unknowingly, unbelievably, it saw a pitcher plant, dripping water to it, tits and bits.
But that was enough. The petals began to grow. The colours began to shine. It was all too good, looking up upon the pitcher plant who smiled benevolently. The care and love from the pitcher plant, undeniable, unconditional. Nothing could please the flower more.
But there was something behind the pitcher plant: a tree. The pitcher plant had already entwined itself around the tree as the tree gave it shades and the pitcher plant removed those pest insects.
The flower sighed, thinking that the pitcher plant was the water-giver solely for its own. Never did it know that the pitcher plant was attached to such an immense tree. It cannot be separated from the tree just to wrangle around the flower.
The flower was sad. The life of a near-withered flower was meant to be like that, forever near-withered, even though the pitcher plant still smiled and dripped water on it.
Embarrassed to get the water, the flower could not reject. It needed water, but it wanted the pitcher plant to be with the flower as well so that it can have its water forever.
But it was all a dream. A sweet, but sour dream. Neither a nightmare, nor a fairytale dream: the reality is, the pitcher plant forever belonged to the tree and the near-withered flower forever belonged next to the fence.