The Immortal Flower

I looked at the river, at my distorted reflection. A tear rolled down my cheek, disappearing into the stream. Just like my beautiful, innocent daughter had disappeared.

Why was God so unfair to my little child? All she did was live out her normal life. Why did she have to contract that stupidly unpronounceable disease? Why did she have to die?

“Are you okay?”

The voice startled me. I turned to see a woman watching me, awkward and hesitant, as though she wasn’t used to other people’s tears. She came up to me and offered me a weird blue flower  of some type I had never seen before. A little glassy and see through but surprisingly soft.

That single act of kindness was all it took, my deepest darkest feelings spilled out like water from a waterfall.

“My… my daughter. She passed away today,” I mumbled, sitting down on the grass. “She was diagnosed with this rare disease… ka… ke… I can’t even pronounce its name. I poured every last penny into finding her a cure. But nothing worked. Nothing at all.”

“That’s tough man,” she sat down beside me.

“I wish there was something I could do. Something to make her immortal.”

“Immortal, huh? Do not wish a curse upon your child.” She was a weird one.

“Curse?”

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lara Waters. A biologist. I specialize in mortality.” Biologist and mortality?

“Sounds religious.”

“Death is anything but religious. It’s a fact and inevitable. Escaping it comes with a price.”

“A price?” I asked, curious, twisting the flower by its stem. It was surprisingly flexible.

She shrugged. “Alright, I'll talk about my recent project. I had been experimenting with increasing the lifespan of flowers. For such beautiful things, they have an awfully short earth time, don’t you think?” I agreed. “I wanted to change that,” she smiled. ”I managed to make one. A flower that was immortal.”

“What?” An undying flower? 

“Uh huh. I put the flower up for auction today. I am waiting on the results.”

“Wait… don’t tell me…” I looked at the flower I was holding in my hand.

“Yep. That’s my baby. The flower that will never die. Never be crushed. And live on forever,” she said matter of factly, as if she hadn’t just proven immortality was possible.

She looked at her phone. “Oh. The first flower just made its debut. It was sold for half a billion,” she said, her tone making me feel like it was no big deal to her. I was holding half a billion dollars.

“And you just gave one to me?”

“It’s fine,” she shrugged. “I am not taking any losses. I have a garden full of them back at my lab. Production cost was no more than the price of three hamburgers per piece.”

“Then why was it sold at such an expensive price?!”

“You know rich people. They love their worldly possessions too much. They probably believe getting the flower would make them immortal. And besides… if I tell them that they are easy to make they might get me in a hassle. You know… to experiment to make humans immortal.”

“You worried about overpopulation?” I asked.

“That won’t be a problem actually. Look at the flower.” I inspected the flower from all sides. It took me a moment to realise. 

“It doesn’t have seeds.”

“Exactly. Nature has its laws. We die and with our death we facilitate those that come after us to live on. Whether that be decomposition to give plants nutrients or stop being a burden to this world's natural resources. By becoming immortal, you stop that cycle and so your bloodline stops with you. Immortality has a price when it's made artificially.”

“So you can’t have kids, big deal. You can live to witness the end of the world with immortality!”

She showed me an identical flower in her phone screen, the one that had been sold at the auction most likely.

“You know what makes you a male and me a female? And what makes me Lara Waters and you… whatever your name is?” 

“Uh… the x and y chromosomes? Eighth grade biology? Genetics?”

“That’s right. Now imagine, the very organs and genes that are responsible for giving you those traits are gone, you will not only be childless, you will be genderless and identityless. Is that even a word? Anyway, basically, you won’t be yourself. Without those organs, you won’t form your own thoughts and you won’t even fall in love.”

“I believe there are still many who would still choose immortality over that.”

“Than I shall give you a toll. To make my garden, through testing and genetic manipulation, it took me ten thousand flowers to make a hundred. Ten thousand flowers died for that. With how complex human bodies are if we keep a similar ratio, I think half the population would have to die in experiments to make that possible. So no, that won’t be happening.”

We sat there for a while, the river whispering below. The flower in my hand shimmered faintly under the fading light, as if the sun itself didn’t dare let it fade.

“You could change everything with this,” I said finally. “Cure death. Rewrite nature.”

“I could,” she admitted. “But I won’t. Every law of nature is written in blood. Every law broken asks for more.”

She stood, brushing grass from her jeans. “Keep it. Maybe it’ll remind you that life’s beauty is its fragility.”

And just like that, she left, vanishing into the glow of sunset as though she’d stepped out of this world entirely.

That night, I placed the blue flower beside my daughter’s photograph. Her smile in the frame was soft, almost mischievous. For the first time since her death, I dared to whisper to her.

“I found something that doesn’t die,” I told her. “But I think I finally understand why we do.”

I touched the flower. It was cold. Too perfect, too still. And for a brief, terrifying moment, I saw my reflection in its glassy surface: unmoving, breathless, lifeless.

The next morning, I tossed the flower by the river.

The water carried away the last trace of blue as if even it refused to keep something that did not belong to life.