Video: Midjourney image, animated in Runway, Text: ChatGPT, Master of Prompts & Ideas: ME
It didn’t crash-land, it strolled in.
One morning, in the middle of an abandoned museum lobby, there it stood: a giant, bizarre flower with a neck like a confused giraffe and petals that looked like they were sketched by an art student after three espressos and a philosophical crisis.
No one saw it arrive. No spaceship. No grand entrance. Just… boom. There.
The locals assumed it was an art piece—some avant-garde protest about climate change or gluten. Tourists posed with it. One kid licked it. He now dreams in binary.
Scientists were baffled. “It’s not from Earth,” they whispered. “Possibly Venus. Or Berlin.”
Every time someone approached, the flower turned slightly away—shy, maybe. Or just rude. It didn’t speak, didn’t bloom, didn’t wilt. It just existed, judging you silently like a barista when you order decaf.
Then one night, it vanished. No sign. Not even pollen. Just a faint, lingering smell of cinnamon and unresolved questions.
They built a glass case around the spot and called it “The Blooming Mystery.”
Some say it’ll return. Others say it never left. Klaus from the bakery swears he saw it wink at him once.
But Klaus also talks to pigeons.