Falling Flower Petals Novels & Stories

The flower she had gifted me earlier. “You didn’t throw it away,” she says. I glance at the flower in her tiny hand. “Do you know what it is?” she asks, carefully brushing the petals with her thumb. “It’s a wish flower. Each petal has a wish in it.” I frown. This is child’s play. There is no such thing as –- holy shit. Right before my eyes, the petals begin to glow. Faintly at first, then stronger. A soft, golden shimmer begins to envelope each petal and lights up the room.

At once, a powerful wave of energy filled the space. "Crimson Bloom Wipeout…" The next second, the words left Granny Rafflesia's lips coldly. As the words rang through the air, the air in front or her began to constrict and rip apart before showers of brightly-colored flower petals began to appear in mid-air.

“Marry him, marry him, marry him, marry him, marry him, marry him, marry him…” A synchronized but deafening sound burst upon her ears suddenly. It was so loud it felt like the ground was shaking. She looked up and saw students from every floor welling out. From the first floor to the tenth floor, they were all shouting the same two words. Subsequently, all of them took out some roses and bright red rose petals started to float down. Starting from the tenth floor, the rose petals danced around on every floor. Summer stood there like she was admiring a beautiful rain of rose petals. They were falling from the sky and landed on the ground exquisitely. It was so red, and so loud.

Anastasia One by one, the shewolves step forward, each offering a flower. White petals pass into my hands, soft and light, almost glowing in the quiet light around us. There's something about them that tugs at my chest—like I’m being trusted with something fragile and beautiful at the same time. Each flower feels like a piece of something bigger. I don’t even try to hold back the smile pulling at my lips. It grows with every step they take toward me, with every petal added to my arms.

The flower stalks are light brown and hairy, and the yellow-green leaves are asymmetrical with smooth edges. Soft petals spread out, dotted with black dots, which stand out against the white pistils. On the bright red petals, there were still a few drops of dew that didn't know where they came from. The glittering dewdrops on the bright red petals attract people's eyes, make people fall in love, and they can't help but touch and cut off this flower.

Embarrassed for not knowing and having no gift prepared, he mumbled, "I didn't get you anything." Vivianne smiled softly. "Your presence is the best gift." As the clock chimed twelve, Frederick noticed a lone petal drifting down. He was puzzled. They were at sea, so where could petals be coming from? These weren't artificial petals or from hothouse flowers; they looked as if they had been nurtured by the sun and rich soil. He looked up in wonder to see countless petals gently falling from the sky in a mesmerizing shower of blossoms.

It looked nothing like the dying blossom I had hidden away. How? Why? This has to be a bad omen. But before I could process the confusion, something changed. The flower twitched in my palm, twitched, and in the blink of an eye, its vibrant glow darkened. The petals shriveled with unnatural speed, curling inward like fingers burned by fire. They turned black, deep, decaying black, and then crumbled into dust. My breath hitched. I stumbled back, eyes wide, staring at the dead petals falling from my hand like ashes.

My entire apartment was soon covered in supplies, sketches, flowers, and greenery for the design I was doing for the competition in Los Angeles in two months. For the first few rounds of design, I used silk flowers to save some money, but it really wasn’t the same as using actual flowers. Silk flowers didn’t stand or bend the same way real ones did.

Dried black rose petals are scattered across the floor. One piece shows Ashton’s eyes—wet with tears. Another shows a shadowy version of my bed, rumpled sheets like the last time we were together, with a figure curled up in the corner. There’s a gift box, still wrapped, with “To my love” on the tag. These are the Visions of Regret. In the center: a floor-length mirror, angled up toward the mirrored ceiling. The second section has eighteen pieces. A white Gerbera daisy on a yellow background is displayed at the top—its petals falling like rain. Again, each piece features petals. The bottom of the space holds vases overflowing with them.

It seemed to be humming, the individual petals lifting and dropping. “What are you?” I asked in a whisper. It was as if the bloom was alive, a small animal, instead of a flower disconnected from its stem. I held my hand out flat, trying to decipher what was happening, and as I was watching, the bloom lifted up off of my hand and slowly began to turn in the air above my palm.