Fear seized the gathering. It did not ripple pass or cause any swaying in the crowd. The fear simply froze everyone.

Lily, Jasmine and Rose were all part of that harvest, all robust, brilliant and bright. All damned, all wished they were wrinkled and withered, or at least bruised. However, not many lived to be that old, not among their kind.

It made no difference what colour or even smell, they exuded. Of course, the sweet smelling among them were favoured and felled first.

The man moved down the row, pointing them out, so casually, so callously.

“This, that.”

“How about this one?” Another asked.

“Yes, that whole lot over there,” said the man with a sweep of his finger, with that same indifferent and even bored expression. “She loves colour.” He added as an after thought.

Jasmine and her group shrieked, as the second man came for them, literally…