The Hero of Thorns and The Lonely Flower
Autor: Pedro Parga | Publicado: 2015-06-08T21:27:00-03:00

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;There was once a boy that every night was told the same story, over and over again, until he would fall asleep. It was the only story he wanted to hear, and the only one that would make him fall asleep with a smile on his face, filling his eyes with hope and determination.
&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;"Once upon a time", his mother would start, sitting beside him, while fluffing his pillow and making sure he felt confortable on his bed, "there was a magic flower. This flower was special, you see, because it was the most beautiful flower in the whole world. It was so beautiful they say, that Men started to covet her.
&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The flower noticed though, that malice and selfishness beat on Men's hearts, and if she let them come close, they would try to pluck her from the ground, as a symbol of greatness and conquest.
With fear inside her flower heart, she grew thorns, special thorns, full of poison, that would burn flesh and whose cuts would only heal if the assailant went far far away, to never see her again.
Still worried, she made a forest grow around her, so people would get lost or be scared by animals, and she would be finally safe. What the flower didn't expect though, is that by doing so, she became fearful and lonely."
&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;"It is said", the mother concludes, "that the flower still waits until today a person that can admire her beauty without trying to harm her. A person pure of heart, that would respect her and keep her company. That would dissolve both her fear and loneliness. The end", and with that, the book would close. Of course, the mother knew this story from head to toe, since she would tell it every night, but, on the cover of the book, there was an illustration of the flower on a clearing, and the boy would look at it, entranced, caressing it softly. In his heart, he knew. "I am the one that she is waiting for! I will find the flower, and love her forever!" The mother smiled, turning off the lights and giving him a good night kiss. "He's a good natured kid", she would think, "His wife will be very happy if he loves her as much as he loves this story."

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;The boy did not marry though. When he came of age, he asked his parents if he could travel, and learn about the world. They agreed. He felt lost, in their eyes, and maybe new horizons could make him find his way, they thought. But he wasn't lost. The story, the innocent crush on the fictitious character of his childhood book was not a phase. It was real. He loved only her, and his life goal was to find the beautiful flower and confess his love to her.
His journey was hard and long. He would sometimes beg, when he couldn't find work to pay for his expenses. He would volunteer in churches and inns, asking only food and shelter in return.
He would go to libraries and ask the locals for information about the flower. Read all the different versions of the story, told by several authors and locals' family members, in search for any hints that would take him closer to her. People would mock him, "Here comes the Hero of Thorns!", "He's in love with a fairy tale!", "What a waste, he should be taking care of his family, not travelling around the world chasing some stupid dream!", he did not care though, he had only one objective. It was his life goal, and he would achieve it.
&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Years passed, and hint by hint, he was able to find the special, magical forest. He prepared himself with weapons and supplies, and went in.
Drawing maps, marking his paths, and defending himself from the animals (he would not kill them, he vowed), each day that passed, he would go deeper and deeper into the woods, until, one day, he finally saw her.

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;It was just like the book cover. A clearing, where a soft sunlight would shine, and right there in the middle, a single, purple flower would stand, looking up.
&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;"Finally!" he thought. He ran towards her, throwing his sword and equipment on the floor and kneeling in front of her, hands around her delicately, a few centimeters from her petals. "I've spent most of my life in search of you! I'd dream of you, and with all my heart, I love you!". His hands shook and his eyes watered. It was the moment that he waited all his life, and indeed, it was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;There was a small silence. He continued, in a soft voice: "I love you, my beautiful flower. I want to cherish you for the rest of my life. Protect and respect you, just like you wanted, right?". He caressed one of her petals, with a soft and honest touch, a thousand times lighter than a feather. And with that, he heard a shattering scream.
He was sent flying, falling on his back. Where the clearing was, it grew a carpet of thorns, as high as his knees.
&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Of course, she was still afraid. A few words could never change years of suffering and fear. Even still, the boy understood that, but not once thought about giving up. He raised himself, and started walking towards her.
&nbsp; &nbsp; Getting cut hundreds of times by each step, he saw his vision blur, and his body numb. His legs were red by the bleed that would never stop, from the wounds that would never heal. Unless, of course, he gave up, but that was never a choice. He pressed foward, repeatedly saying how much he loved her, and how he longed meeting her. He wanted, with all his might, break this cycle of fear in her life, and from now on, make her feel only happiness and confort, the same way as her story was able to bring him.
&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;He approached her once again. Knelt down in front of her. Held his hand close to her. "Please, there is no need to be afraid." He touched her gently.

&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;He gave a smile, letting out a relieved sigh. For a few seconds, he had not notice that from the flower more thorns grew, skewering his hands. The excessive bleeding and the poison were affecting his mind, and, as he saw that scene, of his loved one bathed in a calm light, the most beautiful living thing so close to him, looking him back, he thought that even the best painter in the world could not create such masterpiece. The orange of the sun rays, the purple that no paint could reproduce, surrounded by the browns and greens of the forest. Everything then became black, before he could notice the crimsom of the thorns and the ground.

&nbsp; &nbsp; And, as he laid still, the flower was, once again, alone.