GREY ROCK

Bellflower was the most beautiful in the garden with soft pink flowers and delicate leaves.  People who passed her stopped to take close ups of her to post on Instagram.

The Goldthread vine that grew nearby wasn’t admired, so no-one noticed when he crawled ever closer to Bellflower until he was in whispering distance.  “You look beautiful today.  But don’t you get tired of all those people sniffing your flowers and pressing their phone cameras against them?  It’s so intrusive.”

“I don’t know how to stop them,” said Bellflower.

Goldthread touched Bellflower gently with one of his vines, she didn’t protest, so he stayed, telling her how amazing she looked, how stunning her flowers were and how awful it was that she had to endure all this attention.

Bellflower became dependent on the daily compliments of Goldthread, she felt comforted by his cool vines that gently wrapped themselves around her branches, hiding her flowers from sight so the people didn’t come with their cameras.  Soon Goldthread became her world, everywhere she looked there he was, always smiling, protecting her.

Gradually Goldthread opened up to Bellflower, telling her of the problems he was facing.  He was ugly, no-one looked at him, he couldn’t get sufficient nutrients from the soil, it was easier to get his supply from other plants.  Could Bellflower help?  Gladly she gave him a share of the nutrients she sucked from the soil and Goldthread told her how kind she was.

The summer wore on and Bellflower dug deep for water; she’d been all right last summer, but this summer she was constantly thirsty.

“Goldthread, how much water are you taking?” she asked.

“Oh loads,” he responded glibly, “I’m growing another vine.  You don’t mind do you?”

“I’m very thirsty …”

“What?” cried Goldthread, “how can you be so selfish?  I’m here every day for you, shielding you from the people …”

“I didn’t ask you to …”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Goldthread tightened his hold on Bellflower, squeezing her with his vines until she begged for mercy.  Afterwards Bellflower sobbed, but Goldthread behaved as if nothing had happened.  He continued to drink and feast from her until she grew weak and ill.

“Please Goldthread,” she’d mutter, realising her flowers were dull and her leaves were shrivelling, “is this fair?”

But Goldthread always had excuses and worse was the drip of insults he now fed her; “You used to be so generous, you used to be beautiful, but now you’re mean and sad all the time.”

The gardener returned from her holiday and was shocked to find her most prized plant nearly suffocated by Goldthread’s vines.

“I don’t know what happened,” the under-gardener said.

“That pesky Goldthread!” sighed the gardener.  She dug Bellflower up and with great patience and gentleness removed every one of Goldthread’s vines.

The under-gardener took Bellflower to the south patio and put her in a tub, where she could be intensely fed and watered.

The gardener looked thoughtfully at Goldthread and placed beside him a dull grey rock.  

When she had gone, Goldthread said; “I can’t believe they’ve taken away Bellflower, the love of my life!  All I did was care for her!”

“Indeed,” said the rock.

“Will you comfort me?” wept Goldthread and tried to put his vines on the rock, but the rock felt cold and he couldn’t get a grip on it.

“I’m sure you’re very upset,” said the rock.

Goldthread complained endlessly about his injuries, he tried his hardest to entangle the rock, but got no supply from it; not even when it rained, the water just seemed to fall off the rock, like Goldthread’s vines.  On the south patio, Goldthread could see Bellflower flourishing in her tub and he became sick with envy and loss.  The dull grey rock was no help; it just went right on being there, soaking up the sun, shrugging off the rain.