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Epilogue To Aristotle's '

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trange; that was the only word to describe it. Aristotle’s eyes widened as he quickly leaped off his bike, making his way towards the abnormality. The peculiar flower caught his interest; he had never seen anything like it. He wandered off into this field not too far from his house, on a quest for flowers. However, this was not what he expected. This flower was such a beauty, it did not belong on Earth. Excitement flickered in his eyes. Aristotle was still in the early stages of becoming a botanist, but he knew almost too much about plants. A gleeful laugh escaped his lips, and he wasted no time in uprooting the flower from its spot. His hands shook with delight as he placed the flower in the basket of his bike, that previously occupied the ground. His legs burned when he raced home, his smile shined brightly in the afternoon sunlight.
Aristotle reached his front porch. Keys trembling in his hand as he unlocked the door to his home, flower in hand, and bike
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A strange sensation tingled his fingertips and his eyes fluttered open. Instead of a band-aid resting on the tip of his finger, there was a stem? Aristotle paid no mind and brushed his finger with the back of his hand thinking it was just a torn, seeing as those usually get stuck in his hand. However, it would not budge. The stem was small in size, yet still visible. An uneasy feeling rose in his chest as he reached for a pair of tweezers that lay on his desk. With focused eyes he tried plucking it out, but it hurt. It hurt quite a lot. It felt as if someone was ripping his skin out. He placed the tweezers down, forgetting how to breathe. A series of shaky breaths wracked his body and in the midst of it all, he caught sight of yesterday’s flower. It shimmered in the sunlight as if it knew of its beauty. Aristotle cast his vision down to his finger, and slowly raised his head back to the flower and made the
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