Blossom Bunny’s Garden of Colour
In a secluded, shadowy corner of Storyland, one bright and sunny spring day, Blossom Bunny chanced upon a garden devoid of colour. All around her, the flowers and shrubs were muted into shades of grey and black.
“A garden without colour,” murmured Blossom to herself, bewildered. “How can this be?”
As she explored further, Blossom noticed an elderly man perched on a rock. His expression was one of profound sadness and isolation, and like the garden, he was colourless.
“Excuse me, sir,” Blossom inquired politely, “why do you and your garden lack colour?”
The man’s response was brusque.
“Why do you intrude upon my solitude?” he snapped.
Blossom, taken aback and on the verge of tears, replied, “I meant no intrusion.”
The old man’s demeanor softened, and he offered a smile. “It’s alright. I was too harsh.”
Relieved, Blossom pressed on. “So, why the absence of colour?”
The man recounted his childhood, a time when he was convinced he needed no colour, and thus, he grew up devoid of it.
“Who told you that?” Blossom asked.
“Don’t laugh,” the old man warned, “but it was a spiteful frog.”
Blossom, puzzled, asked, “Don’t you miss colour?”
“I don’t miss what I’ve never experienced,” the man confessed.
“Can you see my colours?” Blossom asked, stepping into a sunbeam, her pink fur aglow.
The old man gazed at her. “Indeed, that is a lovely hue.”
“Take my hand,” Blossom urged, “and I’ll show you more.”
She led the old man to a meadow alive with colour.
“The trees and grass are green,” Blossom explained. “The water and sky, a brilliant blue. The flowers, a kaleidoscope of yellows, pinks, and purples.”
Overwhelmed by the beauty, the old man exclaimed, “I had no idea colours were so magnificent. That frog robbed me of this.”
As they stood in the meadow, the old man began to transform, his skin and clothes blooming with colour.
“Oh my!” he gasped, “I’ve been deprived of this my entire life, all because of a frog.”
Blossom consoled him, “What a cruel deed he did.”
“Such is life,” the old man sighed.
“But now you can savor it,” Blossom encouraged.
“Indeed,” the old man agreed. “Do you think my garden might now have colour?”
“Let’s discover together,” Blossom suggested.
Together, they returned to the old man’s garden, now teeming with vibrant hues.
“It’s magnificent,” the old man rejoiced.
As a frog approached, the old man cried out for vengeance, but Blossom stopped him, “Let’s just relish the garden instead.”
“Yes,” the old man conceded, “he’s stolen enough of my years.”
“That’s the spirit,” Blossom affirmed.
Moral of this Story:
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