The gardener was making his usual rounds in the garden on an incredibly dry and sunny day.
"And some for you, my beautiful patch of petunias," he crooned over his flowers, watering the base of them ever so carefully. Turning his attention to the tulips, he delicately tipped the watering can just enough that they get a sprinkle.
"Excuse me," croaked a weak flower, "But can I have that? It's so incredibly dry and sunny, and I'm so incredibly dehydrated."
The gardener turned around to the voice; a frail dandelion sitting among the patch of pesky thistles. The gardener scowled and shook his head before marching over to the weeds. Standing with his hands on his hips, he casted his large silhouette shadow against the patch.
"What makes you think that I should water you? You'll just come back, over and over again, bothering my beautiful flowers and their saturation?" he gestured behind him towards the aray of colours, then turned to scowl at the weed again.
"But I'm just another flower too, even though you don't want me here, I am here. I would be just as beautiful as your other flowers, if only you watered me too," the frail flower responded. She hung low, stem bending almost completely over, threatening to snap at any given moment. Her leaves drooped, and she looked incredibly sad.
The gardener scoffed and turned to his other flowers. "I want no more of you! You always just grow back, in more bountiful patches than before, and it's so very bothersome!" he cried over his shoulder.
"Please, water me!" A particularly plump pansy was stretching up as far as it could go. It beamed in the healthy sunlight, bathing in the shine. The gardener walked over and kneeled down, stroking the pansy's petals delicately.
"Of course!" he responded immediately, tipping the watering can. The feeble flower watched as the liquid ran around the pansies before seeping into the earth. Perhaps if she stretched her roots far enough she would reach some of this glorious water as well. So, using up nearly all her energy to reach the water, the flower soon came to realize that she was still too small. Her roots weren't long enough.
The gardener started to whistle some sort of tune, which reminding the dandelion of the pansy. Unbending her stem and stretching her leaves, the dandelion used up the rest of her energy to get the gardener's attention.
"Hello? Gardener, over here!" she called, waving back and forth.
The gardener turned around to see who had called his name, when suddenly he saw the disgusting flower from before. Rolling his eyes, he picked up a nearby stone and threw it at the weed. It struck the weed square on her head, sending her bending back towards the thistles.
"There's your damn water!" shouted the gardener, suddenly fed up with his garden. Marching over to his shed, he threw his lovely equipment into the shelves and marched inside.
A few minutes passed.
Then thirty minutes.
Then two hours.
The sun dipped down beneath the tree's, giving a final shine before dusk took over. The pansies yawned and stretched their leaves, settling in for the night while the tulips shook off the day's work. Rose's, which lined the side of the man's house, furled their petals in and slowly clumped together to brave against the chilly night.
"Goodnight Pansy's! Farewell Rose's!" called the tulips, waving to their companions.
"Goodnight Tulip's!" came the reply from the Rose's.
"Goodnight Tulip's, Rose's!" chirruped the Pansy's, "Farewell Dandylion!"
There came no reply as the brown flower lay in the thistles, snapped in two, and quickly consumed by the darkness of the night.