"He loves me. He loves me not."

With each declaration a petal was carelessly plucked and discarded till only one remained. The daisy, or what was left of her, drooped in a sorry display of defeat. Her beauty had been stripped away without a care; no thought had been given to the time it had taken her to reach maturity, the days she had toiled endlessly to reach perfection. No. She was merely child's play.

Pluck.

"He loves me!"

And the daisy remained without a single petal upon her figure until she withered and was swept away by the wind.

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Author's Note: Drabble: a story told in exactly one hundred words. I don't really know where this came from, save that the opening line inspired it. X]

Thanks for reading.

Edited April 4th, 2009