Sunflowers

by Jeff Baker

The cloud moved from in front of the sun, spreading light and warmth on the suburban driveway. At the end of the drive stood the two tall sunflowers. The slightly taller of the two sent a thought to the slightly smaller one.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Nothing else to do,” the smaller sunflower said.

“Here we are, Herodias, two powerful witches, long after death, rooted to the ground…” the taller sunflower said.

“Louhi, you know as well as I do there are far worse places to be.”

“As a Daughter of Hell, we both know that.” Louhi said.

“But how long will this last?” Herodias said. “A flower, even one such as this does not last past the Summertime. Then where will we be?”

“After all these centuries, all these reincarnations we have been fortunate to still be living things. Living things with even meager power.” Louhi said.

“If our next cycle makes us rocks we may be that way for eternity.” Herodias said.

“A cycle which may come soon if the fool in the metal carriage comes closer to us again. He nearly ran over us the other day.” Louhi said.

“Because he knows not our power.” Herodias said.

“The trick is knowing which sunflower is actually the witch.” Louhi said.

There was a rattling rumble from down the street.

“The carriage!” Louhi exclaimed in her inaudible voice.

“Quick!” Herodias said. “Concentrate. With me! Concentrate.”

In another moment, the approaching car gave a loud noise and stopped in the middle of the road, smoke pouring from under its hood.

The two sunflowers cackled with nobody to hear them.

“Listen, Herodias,” Louhi said. “The driver of the carriage is invoking the Damnable Names!”

“Maybe he will wind up growing beside us someday!” Herodias said.

The sunflowers began cackling again.

—end—