Fear of Flowers

We took a car over the hills towards some distant town cloaked in the unknowing mist that cloaks places and faces in the dreamscape.

Halfway up the hill and our car had broken down, dissolved to nothing. We were all alone on a moor, surrounded by little cute white flowers.

But then the flowers moved. They sprouted towering green tendrils. They chased me and my brothers, wrapping round us, flying through the air. I took out a knife, tried slashing at them. But there were too many, an endless supply of fear and death.

One grappled me round the waist, I swear I could feel its final embrace.

I woke up terrified, but to my surprise, I was still alive. And so are my brothers,

last time I checked.