An old lady lived on that dusty street.   It was a long street filled with nothing but perpetually burning sunlight, crumbling shacks, infertile corn fields, and an oddity: a neat little house painted creamy yellow, one of those stiff sturdy square box houses in which there just aren't enough corners to nestle furniture.  The old lady lived in that neat little house, but she despised staying inside.  The house sat on the dirt like a lighthouse on a flowering island in the midst of a dark, dusty sea. Even the sun could not melt the cream of the house into the coffee grounds.  So instead, it vied for attention from the gossiping ranks of sunflowers surrounding the abode.  They bobbed up and down with the oscillating heat waves, forever dreaming in hypnosis.

The flowers sported big drooping heads with orange-streaked yellow ribbons in their permanently unkempt hair.  The old woman made sure to groom them every hour, and since no bees could last in that little town, the old woman pollinated the flowers herself.  Pollinated all 672 of the flowers with brushes.  In the mornings, she untangled the weeds from their skinny white feet, and showered the ballerinas three times a day with gallons of precious water.  For herself, the old lady would drink one little mug a day.  She loved to sit in her splintering lawn chair, even older than her, in the midst of her 28 rows of golden treasures, shriveling up amongst her child flowers.

Many heard rumors of the old woman and her peculiar ways.  Why doesn’t she move away from that barren street, one might have asked.  Why does she grow so many sunflowers?  Some whispered that the old woman was a “cat lady”, but instead of hoarding cats, she hoarded sunflowers.  Others believed she didn't want to be the only living being on that dusty street.

Four weeks later, they’re all gone.  The old woman, the house, and all 672 sunflowers, all at once.  Their demise arrived in the form of groups of men clad in uniforms, a wrecking ball, a truck, a few scythes, and a bus with the words “Closegate Senior Home: Safe and Secure, Guaranteed”.  After a brief scuffle with the old woman, the men wrestled her into the bus and locked her in.  They laughed at the old woman and her solitary ways.  The woman out of their way, the men did what they came to do, and they did it well. A few hours later, everyone and everything left; the men, the ball, the truck, the scythes, and the bus.  Then, all was still.

An old lady lived on that dusty street.   It’s now a long street filled with nothing but burning sunlight, rundown shacks, dried infertile corn fields, and an oddity: nothing is alive.  No old woman, no neat little house, and no sunflowers. Nothing to stir up little clouds of coffee grounds in the tepid air.  Only the withering head of a forgotten sunflower in the waning light, struggling to follow the path of the setting sun.