Wilted Flower Novels & Stories

Whenever another woman tried to get close, his response had always been the same—he would raise up his hand with the wedding ring on and say, "Sorry, I have to be with my wife." Everyone who knew us was aware of his "devoted husband" behavior, and they all envied me for being deeply loved by a dedicated and outstanding man like Benjamin. And so the back-and-forth flirty messages on his WhatsApp account felt like a dagger that stabbed into me over and over again. It was absolutely disgusting. I pushed away the unruly head he had affectionately nudged against me. "I'm going to get a glass of water," I said impassively. Benjamin grinned. "I'll get it for you, Lena."

Suddenly, an uninvited guest crashed the wedding halfway through. It was Carlo. He was bony, wearing a wrinkled suit, and holding a wilted bouquet of roses. He staggered in front of me, babbling, "Rosa… look, I brought you your favorite roses. Won't you marry me? Let's get married today." Luca's bodyguards moved in to remove him, but I held my hand up. I took the wilted bouquet of roses and looked straight at him. "Oh, Carlo. Look at me. Take a good look... Whose wedding do you think this is? This is my wedding. Mine, and I'll be marrying Luca. And you? You're just a madman crashing someone else's wedding."

“The flower… The flower is wilting.” Indeed, the initially bright red flower on the woman’s belly had wilted in the blink of an eye, its petals turning gray. At that moment, the woman opened her mouth. There was a terrified look in her eyes. She was staring at Waltz, and she wanted to cry for help. However, her life slowly wilted away just as the flower did. She was dead! Waltz covered her mouth while tears flowed down her cheeks. Suddenly, the woman’s stomach tore apart with a crack.

If you take life… I knelt near the back path where the hydrangeas still bloomed in their scattered pride—some pink, some blue, some white, as if they couldn't decide who they wanted to be. Lyra used to say they were shapeshifter flowers, always changing their truth depending on the soil. But one caught my eye. A single stalk. Smaller than the rest. Wilted and dry, slumped forward like it had given up. It wasn’t that far from the others—but still far enough to be alone.

After a few days, the rose would naturally wilt to look as the tapestry showed. The man dusted off the tapestry before sighing. "Others called this flower hideous. Yet, to you, this is a rare gem. How is this not fate? Take it. I'm sure this flower feels honoured that you've chosen it, too." Rebecca glanced down at the "wilted" rose and suddenly smiled at it. "It's beautiful." Fresh roses always wilted. So, she didn't see why she couldn't make a tapestry of a wilted rose. After all, wouldn't a wilted rose prove it was once a beautiful bloom?

With a chuckle, I started walking home. The garden outside our house wasn’t too big or too small, split neatly down the middle by a trail of flat rocks leading to the main door. Along the white fence, flowerbeds brimmed with autumn chrysanthemums, marigolds, and pansies, their colors shifting with the season under Mom’s meticulous care. They were the flowers of the current season. I paused when I saw something that shouldn't be there, the flowers were wilting on the right side of the fence but they were normal on the left side.

Vincent fell forward, collapsing into her arms, bloodied but alive, and his body shaking with shallow breaths. She held him tight, sobbing, “I have you…I have you…l've got you okay." The garden roared in fury. Every flower dried up at once, its red petals wilting back to black. The ground shook violently as it cracked wide beneath them. Vincent coughed, his voice weak as he whispered, “Camela…the ground…” The earth split wide open beneath them as rows of dead flowers tumbled into the abyss. The gigantic flower convulsed one last time before its roots tore free with a screeching sound, and sap sprayed everywhere.

No wonder I missed it yesterday, I thought to myself. Inside the vase was a single white rose. I was instantly filled with delight as I saw it but the feeling was only momentary because as I went closer to touch the rose, I saw that it had no life. The fragile flower was bent downwards, looking sad. "Oh you poor thing. All alone and abandoned. No one took care of you did they?" I spoke to it while caressing it's petals. Must have been a beautiful little thing. But sadly now it's wilted.

But what she saw there made her breath catch in her throat. Some of the flowers which had been there, bright and beautiful just moments ago, had withered completely. The petals were brown and curled, as if they'd been dead for weeks. "How did this wither?" she muttered, kneeling down to examine them more closely. The roses that had been blooming perfectly were now shriveled husks. She looked back at Enrica, who was watching her with a worried expression, clearly not understanding what was happening. The older woman couldn't see what Eryndra was seeing - to her, the flowers looked the same as always.

It's not hard to find out but it's just hard to find because it's in the middle of the forest. "Are those the flowers?" I asked to be sure even though I was sure. "Yes," Cayden answered me. "Then let's get one so we can get out of here," I promised and immediately went down into the water because it was only shallow. I immediately picked a flower. "August! That's-" "Oh my god! It withered." I screamed because I was surprised when I picked the flower. After all, it withered. What's happening? "Tss. Because you can't pick it up. You can't separate it from the water." Cayden said to me like he was annoyed.