The small village at the edge of the lake surrounded by thick bushels of colorful flowers wasn’t all that extraordinary. In fact, to be completely blunt, one might say it was extra ordinary. There was nothing special about it, nothing that made it unlike any other village around it. Nothing that made it different.

     Like the young baker just four cottages down. He was no different than any other baker in the world. There was nothing that made him special, that made him any different to any other baker. He had the same long apron as any other baker but still not quite long enough to reach down to his knees but Lanvi Webb didn’t exactly have the money to fix that. He wore the same flour splattered clothes that any other baker was dressed in. His blue eyes sparkled with the same smile of any other baker’s tired eyes. His dark hair was matted with the same layer of white as any other baker’s messy hair. It wasn’t a thick layer of white covering every hair, just several splotches of unpigmented sprigs on certain strands.

       No, Lanvi Webb was no different than any other person in his profession. And to be completely honest, it didn’t bother him at the slightest if he were special or not. In the grand scheme of his tiny little life in his tiny little bakery in his tiny little village, what did being different matter anyways? He was happy right where he was. He was content churning his own milk from his own cow into his own butter. He was just fine with running a small bakery all by his small self for frankly small pay. He was one hundred percent giddy with doing things his way, the right way, in his small bakery with his own butter and his own milk and his own bread four houses down in the village at the edge of the lake surrounded by flowers. Yes indeed, Lanvi Webb was pleased with what he had. Lanvi Webb, in simple, was happy. Almost.

       “Today is the day, my friend,” Lanvi Webb grinned at a small grey tabby sat on his porch. “I tell you, today is the day!” The dark cat mewed loudly at him, its bushy tail flicking. Every day was ‘the day’ with Lanvi, but no one can hate a man for hoping. “No, no.” Lanvi said, determined with a shake of his dark-haired head. “Today really is the day.” The glass milk cup in his hand tipped toward the small saucer on the stone steps in front of the kitten’s paws. The cat’s greenish-yellow, slit eyes lit up but just before the milk dropped into the bowl Lanvi jerked it up quickly. “But what if it’s not the day?” He fretted to the fat kitten before him. It mewled, ears twitching backward in frustration as it pawed at the dish. “No, I know, paranoid… I know.” Lanvi shook his head, tipping the milk back toward the saucer. The cat perked its ears. “Oh but what if it isn’t?” Lanvi panicked, ripping the liquid from the cat. The small feline let out a loud yowl, spitting slightly at Lanvi. He looked at the kitten, eyes big for a moment before sighing softly and sinking down to the rough pavement of the walkway to the bakery, crossing his legs over one another. “Sorry, Arlo.” He apologized to the kitten. He carefully poured an inch or two of milk into the saucer. “There you are, friend.” Arlo payed no attention to Lanvi as he rushed by his hand and toward the milk in exuberance. Lanvi watched the kitten sadly. “I’ve led up to this day for a year, you know…” He hummed softly, tilting his head at the kitten. Arlo payed him no mind, lapping intently at the milk. Lanvi sighed, reaching out to adjust the loose leather band on the animal’s fluffy neck.  “Maybe more…” he stroked the cat’s back fluff and rubbed its scruff. “I’ve sent letters. I’ve given flowers,” Lanvi sat up straighter. “You know I pick flowers every day for that woman?” he said pointedly, shaking his head with a sigh. “I give her flowers every day. I give her my heart, my soul, I’ve give her everything, Arlo.” Lanvi’s head dropped slightly as he looked at the ground, rubbing a finger in the dust. “And still… still, she ignores me.” He pounded a fist into the dirt.

        Lanvi Webb, in the simplicity of words, was in love. Vanagloria Hanson. A true image to behold with her long blonde hair and chocolate brown eyes and Lanvi was head over heels for her. Lanvi Webb was a hundred and ten percent in love with Vanagloria Hanson. In love with a woman which would never love him. He knew that deep down, yet he persisted. Every day he plucked flowers from bushes on his way to her home and politely laid them on the dirt to her door. And everyday flowers plucked from bushes on his way to her home were not so politely laid in a waste bin outside at nightfall. It was a definite blow to a man’s pride when flowers that you picked were thrown in the garbage but he over looked the small details. She just didn’t like lilies was all. Or Roses. Or Daisies. Or Sunflowers. Or any flowers come to think. Lanvi didn’t stress it however, he could go different for the occasion. Maybe try some Lavender? All girls liked Lavender. Lavender grew around his yard in bushels so why not drain his supply of the purple flower by a dozen? Of course it wasn’t his flower choice that drove the miss away. It was in simple, Lanvi that irked her enough to run, not in fact the flowers he surrounded her with.

In short, Vanagloria Hanson was not particularly drawn to frail boys who rolled dough for a living and always walked around covered in flour. It wasn’t all that appealing to a woman of her stature. However, she tolerated his affections if only to roll her eyes when he turned his back to her. No, Ms. Hanson did not push Mr. Webb away, she only took a step in a different direction when he came toward her. It wasn’t a sin to ignore a man. She was breaking no laws, she was hurting no one by ignoring Lanvi. Well, except maybe Lanvi but the two of them didn’t exactly talk much outside of his day to day flower deliveries. She stayed inside for most of those though, hiding out away from the bushes of flowers he handed her. 

     “Lavender seems the right choice, don’t you think?” Lanvi asked Arlo. He risked a quick glance to the large sprigs of the plant around the two of them. Purple stalks waved softly at him in the wind. Arlo mewled for more milk drawing Lanvi back to reality. “You know, sometimes I see you more as a calf than a kitten.” Lanvi teased the animal with a sigh as he spilled more milk into the saucer. He watched him drink intently. “I think Lavender will do just fine for today.” He skipped a beat, suddenly fearful. “But is fine good enough?” he looked to Arlo with big eyes. “I think Ms. Hanson deserves more than just fine.” The kitten meowed at him as it licked the last drop of milk from its bowl. Without hesitation Lanvi poured an inch more into the saucer. “I’m stalling, I know that.” He stood purposefully, setting the glass milk cup in his doorframe. “Right after work I’ll give her Lavender, and I will ask Ms. Hanson to join me for the evening.” He straightened his flour dusted apron and the white powder puffed the air around him.

     A day when which he had something to do toward the end seemed to pass much slower than a day where he had nothing at all and that frustrated Lanvi more than most things. He tried his best to ignore it however and baked bread to his heart’s content while making other people happier and happier when they left his shop, arms full of pastries. He did enjoy what he did and that made waiting the day out easier but still harder than most. When, however, the day ended and the sunset sat happily on the horizon he jumped for joy and with Lavender placed neatly in hand he threw open the bakery door nearly blinding a bird outside. He apologized to the feathered creature but hurried past it, tucking the Lavender into his apron.

     Ms. Hanson’s house was a short walk, probably only a mile but Lanvi made it a remarkable amount longer as he stopped every few minutes to question his choices. He took the Lavender from his apron three times in all to expect it, make sure all the flowers were straight, none crippled, none wrong. Twice of those times were after he had thrust the flowers on the ground to yell about how terrible an idea it was. It was a painstaking process.

      By the time he finally arrived at Ms. Hanson’s door stoop, the flowers were crooked and more than a few pedals were wrong. He awkwardly toyed with the leaves, trying to straighten them as he rapped on the door one, then twice. He paused before beating a third time, fourth and fifth to make sure Ms. Hanson knew he was there. A few moments went by and Lanvi could hear his own heart beats pounding in his ears. Slowly though, after what felt like an eternity the door creaked open and the most beautiful woman Lanvi had ever seen stood in the doorway.

        An entire lifetime of flowers flashed before his eyes. A hundred years of bright colored pedals flowed through his vision. Years spent waiting with a heavy heart and a beautiful bouquet ripped through his sight. A hundred terrible thoughts filled his mind but he smiled at her, eyes big but grin bigger. Pedals scratched the fabric of his shirt as he hid them away behind his back.

       “Ms. Hanson!” He greeted timidly, his heart skipping a beat. She looked at him, tilting her head with a harsh frown. “I was wondering if-” His heart fluttered and he swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry, his voice suddenly felt hoarse, and as if all at once he could feel the flowers behind him dying. He opened his mouth again to say something, to say anything but no words came. His face grew hot with embarrassment, his eyes never leaving her face. “M-Ms. Hanson. I was wondering-” His tongue was suddenly his enemy as it stole away his words. “I-” He stuttered, horror in his expression. She spoke his name but around him was just a sound of static. The entire world seemed to sink away.

      An entire lifetime of different flowers flashed before his eyes. A hundred more years of dying, wrinkling pedals flowed through his vision. Years spent waiting with a terrified stare and a wilting bouquet ripped through his sight.

He took a step backward on the stoop. The Lavender in his hand was an ivy vine, thorns tearing at his skin. Ms. Hanson took a step out toward him with an almost exasperated look, saying something again but the world was just a ball of fuzz. He scurried away from her, trembling as he turned and ran. He sprinted back to his house without fail. Without thoughts on what was right. Devoid of thoughts, of decisions, of a plan. All he did was run.

      When he arrived back at his little bakery Arlo was waiting, yowling at the top of his kitten lungs for more milk. Lanvi covered his ears, holding the bouquet in his hand with a death grip. Knuckles white he shut his eyes, clutching his ears. Arlo’s screeches rung in his mind, yowl after yowl, a persistent scream in his head. He yelled at the cat, clinging to what little sanity he had left through a flower in his fist. The kitten screamed again, the sound a hundred times louder than it should and Lanvi screamed back. A sound like a hundred screeches from a hundred birds scavenged at the prey that was his mind. He howled in seemingly pain as he gripped at his hair. Arlo’s yells filled his mind and simply, he just couldn’t take it. In his rage, Lanvi kicked the milk saucer and it shattered on his brick wall. A hundred or so shards of white painted glass shot out narrowly missing Arlo. The screaming cat hissed and darted into the bushes nearby. His screams still rang in Lanvi’s ears.

       He ripped open the door and rushed inside, slamming it shut behind him. Noise rushed in his ears, screams rocked through his mind. “Stop it!” He yelled to the howling air around him, he looked at the crumpled flowers in his hand. Anger ripped through his head as he yelled at the flowers enraged and thrust them to the ground. “Imbecile, idiotic, lunatic!” He roared at the flowers as he paced in a circle around the scattered leaves. He snarled at the bouquet and anger gripped him as he raised a boot and crashed it down on the pedals. “Ignorant, doltish, daft!” He yelled, smashing his foot into the pedals. Over and over and over again his foot crashed into the ground, crashed into the pedals. The stems split apart, the green blood of the plant staining the floor. “Dimwitted, slow-minded, dumb, moronic, vapid, dense!”  He roared as he slammed his foot on the flowers. Pedals split apart, purple long forgotten. Stems crushed and curled, snapping in half under his boot. “STUPID!”  He screamed. Taking a step away, panting, he stared at what he’d done. The purple splattered the ground, pedals ripped from their stem, which was broken and crushed, crooked and amorphous. He froze, slowly sinking to his knees and staring at the flowers. What used to be flowers anyhow. In horror he stared at what he’d destroyed. At the flowers that he’d killed. Fury curled in his stomach. An unbridled, unhealthy rage bubbled through him. Anger began to build inside him, he stared at the crumpled bouquet and without a second thought he gripped it firmly in his hand and took to scouring his house. He found every single oil lamp inside, which wasn’t but three but sometimes less is more, and he set to work.

       The kids around the village didn’t find it odd to see Mr. Webb walking stiffly through town. There was nothing unordinary about him taking a walk to Ms. Vanagloria Hanson’s house. Nothing unordinary at all. The small pail he carried in his right hand however was slightly unusual but the children didn’t pay much mind to him anyway. He walked through the street in quiet, a determined look set on his face and a plan in mind. A few children stopped and watched him stop at Ms. Hanson’s house. While it was a little confusing that instead of going to the front door he went to the backdoor with his gifts only a shrug of the shoulders was enough to debunk any suspicion. Mr. Webb was a simple little man, they needn’t worry about him. He had a bouquet of Lavender in his hand anyhow so his motives were obvious. A few of the children stopped to watch him stand stiffly on the backdoor stoop. They were slightly confused when he didn’t knock, even more so when he took hold of the bucket and began pouring the contents all around the edge of the house. A couple kids shared confused looks but Mr. Webb was a confusing man so they didn’t question. He took the Lavender in his hand and bared his teeth at it. They wondered vaguely why it was so crumpled and slowly watched in confusion as he reached in his pocket to pull out something small which he held between his index finger and thumb. They leaned forward watching as he scraped it against something and a small light appeared. They’re minds started to process as he dropped the small thing onto the ground. It took but a few moments before flames burst around the house in an explosive dance and encircled the sides in burning glory. The children jumped back, turning to run, screaming. A hundred shrieks and yells broke the air as fire engulfed the entire home. Lanvi Webb watched as fire burst through the home, as screams circled the air around him. He tilted his head and gaped in awe as flames licked the air. He stared in horror, in shock and slowly, he sank to his knees on the stoop and watched as red surrounded him.

       When people from all around the village had finally gotten enough water to drown out the fire the house was a crisp on the ground, the grass around the home a black ashy trail. Vanagloria Hanson, what little black was left anyway, was found just a few feet into the building, crushed by a rather large beam that broke in the fire. As for Lanvi Webb however, there was nothing left to find. The only thing surviving of the flames, much to the confusion of the passersby was a mutilated single stalk of Lavender, split in a crooked, horrid tilt.