She wasn’t supposed to be here, but even so, Fluttershy didn’t regret to have come, because she had found, standing just right in front of her, a thistle.

The young mare couldn’t know that the term thistle she was using to name the flower was also used for several other different weeds and that the one she was looking at was a cirsium vulgare, or spear thistle, easily recognizable by its enlarged part at the base of the spiny purple flower.

It didn’t matter, as she couldn’t care less what the name the flower she was looking at was, what its characteristics were or even why it had been growing on that very spot where she would eventually find it.
All she knew was that the thistle lay there for her to enjoy.
And it was beautiful.

She first just observed it in silence, as there seemed to be no sound anymore in the whole world, her ears completely deaf from anything but her own breath and the regular blows of the wind that were making the thistle lean a bit, and then come back to its original position, only to lean again in an hypnotic and peaceful dance of life.

Fluttershy smiled, even let a painful bit of laughter come out, because she was just realizing how miraculous it was that something as simple yet so wonderful as that flower just there existed.
She had, for years and years, ignored the thistles. And rightfully so. She wasn’t feeling she had done something wrong in the past, just that she had missed something very important, something that she was still not completely able to grasp, but something that was making her soul feel at rest.

Why that thistle was so beautiful, she couldn’t really explain. It just was. Beauty being in the eye of the pony was more than fitting at this instant. Still, there was no denying that this particular thistle, just there, had all the characteristics of beauty and if Fluttershy had to define the word beauty, she would have just used the thistle as an example.

But maybe it was just that thistle. This one in particular, amongst all thistles in the world, was worth all of her attention and devotion. It was special and the others weren’t. It would explain her current reaction to it. Rationally though, she knew that the world was made of things way more beautiful than a thistle. There were beautiful flowers with intoxicating smells, green trees and their tasteful fruits, gentle birds and nice squirrels, the playful cats and even the soft fur and personality of bears.
The world also contained ponies, nice and numerous. And amongst those ponies, her friends, always ready to support her, to comfort her, always standing by her side. Those friends she loved so much.

Her mind stepped in to protect her. Rationality was one thing, but the thistle in front of her was another, more important at the moment. She had to focus on it because she had never seen anything like it before, because it was wonderful to look at and because it was actually there, it was concrete, and it was real.

As if to ensure herself of that last point, Fluttershy called to her right front leg, the one that she could still move, to reach out to the plant and touch it. Her hoof slowly left the ground and carefully caressed the petals.
The softness of those and the mere fact it was really there comforted the pegasus. Of course the petals were spiny, and rigid, halfway to become thorns, and of course they were really tiny, but they were still the most wonderful things Fluttershy had seen in her whole life.

Everywhere else around her, the world was brown, or grey, dark and menacing. Her own yellow fur was so much covered with mud that she could hardly recognize it. But if most of the thistle was made out of a mix of brown and green, the petals were shining brightly with their incredible purple that was dominating everything, chasing away what was depressing or frightening with hope and happiness.
Fluttershy could see in each of the many petals of the flower the promise of something better. She could see in the reflection of the sun on those purple surfaces the assurance that tomorrow would bring a new dawn full of possibilities. She could hear from the sound of the wind running through the maze of colorful spiny amazing little parts of the corolla that life would always prevail, even against the colder of nights, or the darkest days of winter.
In its silent way, the thistle was telling Fluttershy not to worry, because all of her mistakes had been long forgiven. More importantly, it was telling her that she was loved and would always be loved for all of eternity, no matter what might have happened or what may ever happen.

Both the thistle and Fluttershy, at that point, were sharing the same respect for each other, as only two living beings can, acknowledging the other one as his and her equal, realizing how much had been lost by ignoring each other.

For a second, Fluttershy lost contact with the flower. She quickly got rid of her helmet, feeling it wasn’t of much use anyway and that it was probably the cause of her sudden dizziness. But when she looked at the flower again, a shiver went through her whole body.

Had the thistle changed during the time she had closed her eyes? She couldn’t feel its aura of happiness anymore. In its place, the prickles were catching all of her attention, as if they had grown bigger, or had just pierced through the bubble of illusion and made it deflate to leave only the harshness of reality. The petals, before so colorful, were now looking pale and lifeless. The wind that was making the thistle, as well as the ground it was emerging from, lean regularly was slowing down dramatically, as if it wasn’t worth blowing anymore.

In a desperate attempt, Fluttershy focused her strength on reaching out to the flower one more time with her hoof, but this time the thistle felt cold, harsh and violent. She could sense the whole flower retracting on itself, putting its spines in front to discourage any attempt of contact.
Fluttershy’s hoof fell back down on the ground and her mouth moved, lacking the air to form the word she wanted, just to ask why.

High above her head, the sun reappeared from behind the clouds and to Fluttershy’s amazement, the thistle suddenly regained all its power and beautifulness, proving that good would always prevail in the end.
Relieved, the young mare smiled with gratitude one very last time.
And then she left.

All around her, ponies from a new Equestria battalion were charging, spears shining in the sun, and as it was bound to happen, one of them, unknowingly, crushed the thistle in his path.

THE END

Author's Note

The worst part is, I used the thistle because of its french name, before realizing it's mad munchkin symbol... and now it applies to one of the most unoriginal, uncreative stories possible. Good thing she will never see that story, or I would have to apologize.

Other than that, I don't know if the story can be enjoyed, but that's what I wanted to read about two hours ago, so I wrote it.

Honestly, I just come from listening to "Tuesday" from MrEnter on Akash's youtube channel and it's way better than anything I could ever do just on a conceptual level, so if you want something good, I just gave you the link(s).