(Author's note: this idea randomly popped into my head while I was listening to Imaginary by Evanescence for the first time. It's completely different from what I do normally, and it's sort of a rough cut, but I hope you like it! ~not Ross)

The paper flowers, the paper flowers everywhere.

Aaron lay on his back amidst his sea of paper flowers. At least half of them were made out of his old math homework sheets. He called them lilies because they were mostly white. A deep purple sky floated above his head, and he could almost hear the wind whispering through the trees that weren't there. But he closed his eyes and there they stood: magisterial beasts welcoming him into their arms. It was raining, and the raindrops spoke to the trees like he was never allowed to do at school. Hundreds and hundreds of paper flowers twitched repetitively under the falling water, but not a single one wilted under the weight of it.

Suddenly, he jumped up, running through the field of rustling flowers, and snatched a pencil. The rain speckled his hair gently. He leapt upwards and dug his fingers into a sticky cotton candy cloud that tasted like watermelons, and he smiled. With as much care as he had, he unfolded one of his paper flowers and began to scribble.

It isn't that I don't understand. It's just that I like flowers and purple.

Aaron admired his handiwork, scrutinizing every stroke of the pencil. It had to be perfect. He erased an S to make it just as tall as the U next to it. Rain drops patted down on the creased paper, but not a single one blurred his labored handwriting. He caught one of the droplets on his tongue before quickly refolding the flower.

And idea sprung into his mind. A great idea. He unfolded another flower, scrawled out his statement, and placed it back exactly where it had been. Then another one, then another, another, another! For fifteen minutes he worked, growing more and more sure of himself with each moment. And the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. People acted like he didn't understand anything, that he didn't know about the things in the world. No. No, no, no, no. He understood. He just didn't like it, not a bit, and so he chose to live among the paper flowers. Where everyone should live.

Then the rain hissed something to the wind, and the wind laughed. Aaron smiled and looked up to catch the joke. But as the wind pounded against his face, he knew it wasn't a funny joke.

What are you trying to do? the wind whispered derisively.

"I want to tell people," repeated Aaron, who never stuttered when he was with the flowers.

How will people know if you only tell the flowers?

"I… I… I'll give them to people!" But his mission had already been questioned, and his resolve was fading.

And do you think anyone else will really want a flower?

"Stop it!" Aaron ordered, hurling his pencil to the grass beneath the paper flowers. One of them ripped. Tears rallied in Aaron's eyes. "Stop it right now! You be quiet!"

The wind laughed a breathy laugh, but remained otherwise silent.

"Good," Aaron hugged. He scrubbed his eyes dry, which was very hard to do with wet hands. Back on the ground, he couldn't find his pencil. Thing were just going from bad to really bad. "Where's my pencil?" he demanded. Control was slipping. One of the paper flowers tittered and tossed it to him. "That wasn't very nice."

Only three more flowers received Aaron's message before the wind swooshed up behind him and pushed him onto his face in the grass, laughing again. The trees croaked in mild amusement. Mild like mango salsa. What are you trying to do? the wind repeated.

Rain drops stung Aaron's nose like elvish snowballs. Aaron held out his pencil like a sword and leapt to his feet. "Be quiet! I don't want to listen to you!"

Is it because the wind's right? the trees creaked carefully.

Nothing held the tears back this time. "Stop talking! I'm the one in charge! You have to listen to me. You're being bad." He trembled. The wind turned icy and the purple sky darkened to a sinister velvet.

You're being stubborn, the wind hissed. Aaron could almost feel its teeth pricking into his arms.

"But everything has to be perfect!" he insisted, growing more and more frantic. This couldn't happen. This was his flower field, and he thought he was supreme here.

Nothing can be perfect. A paper flower shrieked as it was swept out of the grass and the purple sky swallowed it like so many mini marshmallows. Then another, another, another. Soon the whole field was flying up in the air, paper flowers batting this way and that, crashing into Aaron's back and face. They covered the sky. Blanketed the sky. Enveloped the sky. Aaron began to scream as he watched his paper flowers decompose into the purple, melt into it, and the wind laughed.

The sky ate every last paper flower.