An antithesis against a dishonest literary elite who are everything I despise.

Not many people know this, but occasionally flowers, like people, can be scared…
Now, I know what you’re thinking, a flower is a plant and plant’s don’t have nervous systems, let alone feelings, they are created to grow, attract bees, or pollenate the air to make more flowers… they look good and smell nice. And on the whole I'd sort of agree with you, to a point... the point being, tropical pitcher plants; that smell bad and sometimes even eat mouse poo.
However, this is the magical garden, and in the magical garden things are not really what they seem on the surface; and sometimes, you have to dig down and see what’s really going on.
There once lived a little plant,that, more-or-less, stood by herself in a little bed at the bottom of the flint wall, by the rickety, rackety blistered dark green painted gate, that looked out towards the little red cottage. In fact she had the best view of the entire garden, but she was far too scared to enjoy what she could see.
She was afraid when she woke up in the morning, when the blue rain fell from the grey cloudy sky she was sacred that she would get wet. When the large white moon sung his lullaby to send all the flowers, birds and bees to sleep, she was so scared that she covered her ears and when the golden sun sang its morning tune she was so scared that she hid her face away. The birds who flew overhead knew she was afraid, and were puzzled, the heavy drinking bumble-bees who buzzed about the flowers knew she was afraid and were puzzled, even the little fittlebort’s knew she was afraid and were puzzled…but it was the Gentle gardener, who knew her, and made her, who was the most puzzled person of them all; for he could never understand what scared her so much.
So once upon a yesterday morning at about a little after half past nine, The Gentle gardener looked out of his front room window and down at the little flower looking all scared and shaky; and felt that something had to be done.
‘I wonder…is there anything I can do to help her not feel so afraid all the time?’ he said to himself. ‘…I could go over and introduce myself, but she will probably just faint, or scream so loudly all her petals will fall off…’ He shook his head slowly, his big brown bead waving from side to side, his huge mild green eyes looking sad. ‘…doesn’t she know that I would never do anything cruel or nasty to hurt her?’
So he decided to go off into the large kitchen and make some special honey and cinnamon cakes together with a huge jug of fresh bubbly lemonade, and then, all of a sudden an idea was whispered into his ear from an angel, who had been flying about the kitchen with noting much to do.
The idea made the gentle gardener sman, the sman became a chortle, the chortle became a giggle, the giggle became a titter, the titter became a sman and chortle and a giggle once more before it began to get louder and louder and louder… laughter filled the kitchen, then the cottage before, leaving the cottage in huge waves of spiralling white light leaving more or less the whole garden to sing with the gentleness of it.
So it was that later in the day the gentle gardener decided to take a walk down to one of little Fittlbort the crystal cities that rested by the corner of the pond, close to the fringes of the garden where the weed’s lived.
Those who have never heard of Fittleborts, need to be made aware of who, or what, they are. In size they are small, about the same size as an ant, or perhaps a money spider. In some ways they look and behave almost like a human, yet in other ways…they do not…
They have human skin, and human faces and hair, but their eyes are a striking violet within violet, which can be beautiful and a little scary too…they have one set of arms. And two hands with three fingers on each, but they have two sets of legs and their feet are also a little odd to describe too…as they have six toes on one pair of feet and four on the other.
They also have tiny wings, on their back but they don’t really fly that well. Instead they these as guidance fins on huge jumps, which they can do, if they can be bothered…which is seldom, as they are quite lazy creatures and will prefer to do as little as possible wherever or whenever possible… their favourite food is of course honey, which means they might get rather fat in the tummy if they don’t do enough exercise, which can happen if they get lazy. Which they do when they stop working or believing.
As the Gentle gardener was looking over the Crystal city he saw a particularly lazy Fittlebort called Dave. Dave was not a special Fittlebort, by that I mean he did not stick out, he had no real gift for talking either, so he spent most of his time sleeping, or eating honey. Which meant he had grown a little in the tummy.
‘Morning Dave.’ Called out the Gentle Gardener, awaking Dave from a nap.
Dave looked around him and seeing no one he shook his head and went back to sleep.
‘Dave, wake up! Its ten thirty.’ The Gentle gardener said again.
Dave looked around him, unsure as to what to think… he swore he had just heard a voice tell him that it was about then thirty, yet…no-one was there. He shook his head once more and was about to go back off the sleep, so he looked up, and there staring down at him was a huge blue and white eyeball staring down through his crystal ceiling at him.
Dave screamed.
‘Dave it’s me, the gentle gardener, don’t be afraid.’
‘Am I Dead?’ Screamed Dave.
‘No not yet. Come on, wake up Dave I need you. There is no one in the whole garden that can do this job better than you. So get out of your smelly bed and do as your told.’ Insited the Gentle gardener.
‘Job…What job?’
‘There is a flower-‘
‘hold on… a flower you say… well, I’m glad that I’m not dead, but all this panic has made me hungry and I do need some breakfast.’
So Dave made his way down his spiral stair case and into his kitchen where he made for himself and wormy kebab.
‘So I’m not dead and you’re not going to stamp on me?’
‘what?’
‘Stamp on me, like you did to our other city in the time before the rain…’
‘Dave…’ the gentle gardener sounded a little perplexed… ‘why would I stamp on you? I like you and all the little fittleborts.’
‘You stamped on my mate Jason last year.’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Yes you did…Jason and I were by the pond and having a little fish, when all of a sudden a huge toe came and squished him flat.’
‘That was not my toe.’
‘Well whose toe was it then? Because it was not mine.’
‘Dave… are you listening to me?’
‘I might ne’ Dave said as he chomped down upon a bit of wormy kebab.
‘Look… ok, I am sorry for squishing your friend, even though it was not me.’
‘That…’ began Dave,’…is not an apology… but I will accept it for now on Jason’s behalf… I am sure that he would be grateful to hear that you may, or may not be, sorry for his squashing…and know he would be happy if he could hear you as you say it.’
‘Now… are you listening Dave?’
Dave nodded as the Gentle gardener began to talk…
Later that day, Dave made his way, as innocently as he could to where the little flower was bedded. As he stared at the flower his face looked perplexed. The flower was making herself very sick with all of her fear. Her buds were drooping, her stalk was wilting, and her little face was hidden as she never wanted to look up and around her at the wonderful world.
‘Hello, my names Dave…’ He began a little unsure of himself. ‘…I live in the little Fittlebort city down by the pond…’ he looked up at the flower and wondered what colour its petals were…
The little flower quivered a little.
‘…its ok’ he began,’…I am not going to hurt you, after all I can’t, as I am a lot smaller than you…’ he slowly crept forward a step at a time, unsure as whether this was the right thing to do or not. ‘I have a message from the gentle gardener for you, but I have to get a little closer, it is a very important message, and he really wants you to hear it. He would have come himself, but he thinks that he might scare you. But you have to look at me, it’s very important that you do that…’ he waited. ‘…is that ok?’
So he looked up, and he waited,
And he waited
And he waited some more, feeling a little unsure that his words had reached her heart.
Then slowly, the flower began to unfurl one petal at a time until the most beautiful flower he had ever seen looked down upon him. Its petals were a pale purple and its little face shone like the morning sun, and her stalk was firm and rounded. Dave gasped and took a step back. The flower suddenly looked scared once more.
‘No, don’t do that, its ok...’ Dave said, as he took a step forward once again. ‘…Its just I have never seen such a pretty flower before and feel a bit nervous talking to you. I would ask you if you wanted a wormy kebab, but I don’t think that flowers eat Fittlebort food.
At that the flower almost retreated once more.
‘No, don’t do that, please don’t do that…’ Dave said gently.’… I do have a message for you and its sort of important. But you have to bend a little closer to me.
So the flower bent nearer and nearer, her face shone gently at Dave, and with the most beautiful scent he had ever smelt, Dave smiled as the little flower said a gentle almost whispered:
‘coo?’
And he sighed as he stammered out
‘The g,gentle gardener w-w-want’s to s-s-say to you.’
Their faces were almost touching, her round petal face shone his violet eyes welled with light…
and then it happened.
It was something that all Fittlebort’s do, but Dave did the best of all…which was why the gentle gardener had chosen him in the first place.
Dave farted.
And what a fart it was. It was not a quiet fart, or a short fart, neither did it pop out or puff… no, it was a long, painfully protracted fart that made his back-end wobble with heavy residual thunder, that lasted a full ten seconds.
It was so long that it made Dave’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets with embarrassment. His, mouth dropped open and his tongue came out of his mouth.
For another twenty seconds, there was silence, as the air around Dave began to smell quite bad. Dave looked about him, and just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again. Well, that’s the last job I get for the gentle gardener, he thought to himself. I expect I’ll get stomped on now.
But then else happened that changed everything.
The flower began to giggle,the giggle became a chortle, the chortle became a sman, the sman became a titter and the titter slowly turned into laughter.
‘you, know…’ she began ‘your face…your face, looked so funny and silly just then.’ And her laugher became louder and louder and uncontrollable before she finally began to sing.
Dave looked towards the flower, and became mesmerised by her laughter, so much so that he began to laugh too, and when he started so did the birds and the bees and the other animals of the garden who came along to see what was happening, started to laugh too…t was not long before a large crowd had gathered about the little flower.
At last the gentle gardener arrived.
‘no, what’s all the noise about?’
‘ha ha ha As if you don’t know.’ Laughed Dave the flower and all the others who had gathered together… at which point the gentle gardener winked and walked away, farting once and making the flower giggle once again.
So there we are, that's the story now perhaps, you’re thinking, perhaps laughter can set me free too… and you know perhaps it might… so when you feel scared, think of a time that made you laugh and you never know you might have the strength to face that fear and blow it far, far away… oh… I think I’ve farted…I think I need to go now… bye bye, bye bye!