In her despair of ugly features, she had gained the improbable skill of sticking flowers to her face, at first to cover her tears, next to cover her true figure in reality. It wasn't the worst thing in the world for the village she lived in never gave her a second look, and during the autumn and winter, it was difficult to hold long conversations with her for her flowers began to die and reek an odor of her soaked tears. Yet, during the spring and summer, she was in an estate of grace, everywhere she went little bee's followed her around that invited children to be friendly, calling her, "Queen Bee" but this didn't bring her internal passion to a height that pleased observation-even if it allowed her smile to bloom-. She wanted to feel the love of hands, warm hands.
If you asked any of the men around the village what they thought of the flowered faced girl, they would shout jokes like, "That girl ain't pretty, just a walking fake daisy." or a sad truth, "She just doesn't have what I'm looking for in a woman." and once these honest opinions reached wind and into the many other ears of the village, the women began to harass her. Drowning her in sudden spots with flowers, calling her ugly and not worth a night with a blind drunk, handing her a jar of water claiming that they're her tears, and some used her as physical therapy by means of bruises and blood. All of this changed the flower faced woman, who over time, had asked every male what beauty is worth, and asked many of the women advice in which it was refused, she locked herself away in her room.
The children needed their queen bee, and many, after school or after other appointments would march to the house and wonder where she was. Everytime they would get the same answer, "The Adults out there. They think in a way that's so dangerous yet selfishly freeing. I can't hangout with you guys because years from now, they will teach you to be like them."
And soon, the children stopped their begging and the bee's slowly died on a daily basis. The children insisted on a funeral, the burial of a flower not yet grown. And after her flower face was covered with an unidentified person, the village truly believed that the flower faced woman was gone, and instead was a monster built by nature, which transformed into future stories and also allowed some sympathy to creep into the minds of that dangerous parasite, yet it didn't change the flower faced woman's decision of exile. In her exile she spent most of her time reading or studying the invisible threads of flower petals and wondered about the growth and making of nature. How steady it can be, how easy it is, how meditating it could be. It had allowed her a new notion of peace that lasted only a few months, until autumn came around and took her disguise away. In early winter when all of the flowers had died and her face had shown its deprived hunger for freedom, it was locked by an unadmirable force. It made her puke, under her eyes, darkness where her vision was bleak, almost blinded, her lips charred and burnt from the dryness of smiles and kisses, and her ears metamorphosed into insects of deafness that had allowed her to disperse unwanted hearing. Her face changed her way of living even more so, it had gotten to the point in which she couldn't even bare her looks and so she had decided in summer, in full bloom, that she was going to bury herself alive. In this new decision, she ran around the village screaming her new funeral, many who hadn't seen her in forever claimed that she was not from around there, that she was an unknown person, and they don't care too much for new people. She never answered to these comments and instead, was zoned out on her unstable decision, and not capable of any more comprehension, continued to claim her funeral until the day came, where she was to be buried alive. Her final face had been sundried like a raisin, her soul had entered the thought of a flower, and she lay in her dirt bed and shoveled herself in, forever.
When she had decided to disappear from the world forever, the village, who already forgot about the flowered faced woman, continued their life like usual. The men who discredited her beauty, found their queens and settled upon their decisive happiness, the females who brutalized her comfort missed the ability to put shame on an easy target, but over time healed their parasite and devised their own intuition. Quickly the generation that had grown with the flower faced woman was a ghost walking with them, but for the children, who always missed their queen bee, had grown up to be devices of the parasite as well, changing their tale of, "The Queen Bee" to, "The Ugly Flower Faced Woman" and continued the tradition of the story and of the parasite that attacks every villager there. It was also in this moment, without realizing, that the bee's had disappeared forever, the next generation after them, never got to see the bee's that serviced this despaired woman. Life was all the same, except the place where the flower-faced woman was buried, where all year around, a single flower survives, blooming with an eternal purple and green.