He cut himself again.

It was the second time that day.

 The first one, he got this morning. He was out tending the rose garden. The velvet flowers were almost in full bloom and he was very much delighted by this. Some were already blossomed just right so he decided to severe them from their main stems. He was aimlessly slicing the second one when he felt wetness on his left hand. The liquid was thick, and apparently his finger has been bleeding for a while. But he never noticed it, for the blood would drop on the flowers, and the flowers would absorb the blood.

The tree stood for quite some time now. It was early spring. Siwon was walking along the path, trying to think of anything else but thinking. He chanced upon the tree. It was a sturdy tree. He knew such a plant existed. It was that plant that had tiny flowers that would bloom only for a week, starting from the lower part of Japan in January, and would move northward until April. People would gather under it, trying to get a view of the spectacle that is its blooming. But this wasn’t Japan. No hanami is expected or even occurred. People would pass by, oblivious of such wonder.

And here was Siwon standing under one of those trees. He told himself once, “I believe in God’s wonders.” Right then and there the flowers started to show themselves to him.

He cut himself again.

He was very much engrossed on the thorned flowers that he forgot it was April. The tree was swaying slightly side by side, and the flowers moving along with it. In the meantime, Siwon’s eyes glowed red.

The branches were holding up as long as they could, as if never wanting to let the flowers fall. But the man’s back faced them, which is one of the things the plant feared the most. The tree continued to dance, for its life depended on it.

Siwon was collecting the roses by their stems now. He was very much pleased with himself. The rose garden that was started by someone else was tended by him and now he was getting the flowers he deserved.

The pink flowers could take no more. They let go, and the branches let go too. And one by one, each petal dissipated, not by will but by pursuit. They were mere petals but there were a lot of them, and this made the tree think, maybe, just maybe, the man would notice.

The last flower finally gave up. It was the last sway, the last performance, and it fluttered with the slight breeze. Slowly and gently, coming down from the heavens, the 5-petaled flower seemed to flap its wings but tenderly so as not to come crashing down to the ground. And at last it reached its final destination, the worthy soil just in front of the man.

He was walking closer towards it while unconsciously grinning to himself, holding the red flowers in one hand. He saw the tiny pink flower on the ground and made a small movement with his head to look behind him. Pink petals were everywhere around him. He looked back at the lone flower and noticed that a drop of his blood smeared it. He watched while his blood slowly spread through the flower. The flower was taking too long, so with his other hand still holding the crimson blossoms, he walked excitedly to his car, thinking of the many things he could do with the flowers.

The pink flower turned red. But its redness was too deep and dark that it only looked like it was black.

The man in the car drove away.

And the flower stayed there.