The Friday Writing Prompt

Write From the POV of A Bridal Bouquet.

Something isn't right. I feel eyes on me. Staring. Just about everyone is smiling. As beautiful as I feel, and as lovely as I am, I am suffocating. I'm dying. I am being choked by clammy, nervous hands.  I feel the walls closing in on me.  It's very crowded. There's no room to move. 

I am being handed to another woman. Her hands are drier, but they cling too tightly around me.  Soon, I am handed back to the other woman. Her grasp around me is lethal. My stems are crushed.  Still, I am beautiful.  

I have been laid upon a white table. I am able to rest. It's noisy, but I don't mind. Soon, I am grabbed and held by the same woman. This time, her hands are no longer clammy. She holds me loosely.  

Suddenly, I'm being choked. I am shoved downward, her grip on me a vice. Then, I am being thrust upward.  I feel the choking hand release me. I fly high. I'm free!  I hear screams. Women are screaming and hands reach for me. I sail downward, and though I am free, I know I will meet my demise. I land on the cold parquet floor with a plop.  I feel looser, the tightness of my flowers ebbing away. Just before I feel peace, I am grabbed by numerous hands. I am torn, and my flowers lose precious petals. The ribbon holding us has come undone. I am ripped apart. Soon, though, I am squashed together by a new set of hands. The ribbon is forced around me once again.  

I am dying.  

I now rest on a forgotten shelf. I am dusty. I am decayed. I am dead. 

But still, I am beautiful.