High up on a hill, there lived two flowers: A simple white daisy and a magnificent rose. The daisy, appropriately named Daisy, was sweet and good to the other flowers of the hill. The rose, named Maximillian Pierre the III, was not.
You see, Maximilian Pierre the III was a shameless narcissist. All throughout the day, he talked about how wonderful he was. Daisy grew quite tired of the non-stop bragging of the obnoxious rose, but never said anything; she was too sweet.
One spring day, the flowers woke up to a pleasant breeze and gentle rays upon their petals. Maximilian Pierre the III was feeling particularly refreshed and began bragging at once.
“Ah, my petals are looking FINE this morning, fine, fine, fine, are they not? And the light catches all of the subtle hues hidden in my VIBRANT petals, can you see them? Pink, yellow, purple, orange, blue, violet and even a touch of crimson! I’m sorry not everyone is as blessed as me; I’m too perfect for this Earth, am I not?”
The flowers sighed and whispered amongst themselves, but no one had the nerve to speak directly to the vapid rose.
“And do you see the way my leaves are greener than the greenest leaf on that tree over there? I am superior; nature has decided that I am the best! Best, best, best!”
Daisy sighed and tried to ignore Maximilian Pierre the III as she always did, but today she felt angrier than usual. His bragging was like an annoying itch she couldn’t reach.
“And did you see this petal? It’s the epitome of PERFE--”
“STOP. Stop right now. I’ve had enough. You are not perfect! YOU ARE NOWHERE NEAR PERFECT. What does “perfect” mean, anyway? You’ll regret your bragging one day.”
Daisy recoiled at her own sudden outburst. She immediately felt embarrassed and said nothing more. Maximilian Pierre the III also seemed speechless-- he recovered quickly, however, and went on a rant about his superiority to any other “dull flower”.
Later that day, a young couple climbed the sloping hill and lay out their picnic.
“Now, don’t wander far!” the mother said to her baby, and stopped watching her. “Watch the baby,” she told her husband dismissively. He shrugged.
The baby, being a baby, was not particularly picky about what went into her mouth. She crawled among the flowers, invoking terror in their fragile hearts.
She happened upon the terrified daisy and stared at her for a long minute. “Ugly daisy,” she said with an uncaring tilt of her bald head. Then she spotted the vibrant rose, who was currently in the middle of one of his eloquent speeches.
“Pretty rosie!” she shrieked and attacked poor Maximilian Pierre the III. He begged for mercy, but the baby ate him, thorns and all.

The daisy sighed in relief. The father finally found the flower-eating baby and ended her reign of terror. She smiled and waved at the flowers over his shoulder, as a single petal fell from her mouth.