A Lonely Flower

The story of A Lonely Flower. "The people want to know. What is your favourite flower?" She asked. A question I dread. What do you think of when you hear the word "Flower"? Beauty? Grace? Perfection? A sight that brings Hope? A sight that brings Joy? Well to me the word flower itself is a prison. A prison I can't seem to escape from. Remember all those lovely thoughts you had answering my question? Take them, step on them, chop them up, toss them in a bin and burn them. Your result is what I think. The complete opposite of what you thought. That's what I think. So, knowing this, how could I possibly have a favourite flower. But if I said that, I wouldn't be perfect. I wouldn't be Gardenia's Brightest Flower. But I want to be honest so I’ll think about the consequences later, "Ha-ha. Ironically... I don't like flowers." "What?" The interviewer seemed shocked. "You heard it here first folks!  Rose Fleur, Gardenia's brightest flower doesn't like flowers!" I answered the rest of the questions then the interview ended. While leaving my elder sister confronted me, "What the hell was that?" "What?" "You don't like flowers!? How could the person with the nickname The Brightest Flower, whose name is Rose Flower not like flowers!?" She was upset. But I still wanted to be honest, "It's only the truth." "How many times do I have to tell you? You are famous! People don't care about the truth. They want to hear what is expected of you!" She scolded me. "Yeah... My thoughts and ideas... don't matter." "Exactly! You should have just said roses as we practised." "What's done is done." I wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible. "Right, but it won't happen again."