Everything was in ruin. A lone, British soldier wondered through the streets of a lowly village, taking in all the damage that’d been caused. Houses and homes were reduced to piles of rubble and broken memories, as bodies littered the streets like rotting piles of animal flesh. Blood covered every corner you turned in this once peaceful community.
Hours before, the village had been a warzone. Soldiers had come charging through the streets like assassins on a killing spree, opening fire on all that’d gotten in their way. Villagers had hidden in fear as the nightmares of war had bombarded them with flames, gunshot, and all around chaos. For weeks it’d been an endless display of tragedy and devastation.
The soldier was met by scornful glares everywhere he went; the villagers looked very much like they wanted to spit in his face. And truthfully he deserved it. All of the soldiers did. Not just the Germans, but his fellow soldiers, too. Especially his generals, who even now were coming up with new methods of killing. They had been responsible for bringing the war to this village. They had decided to put innocent lives at risk. And they were the reason that mothers and children were now in the streets, crying over lifeless bodies. And why? Because their village was in the way? Because their loved ones were unfortunate to be caught in the crossfire?
The solider hadn’t signed up for something like this. If you could call it signing up. He, like many good men, had been forced to leave his family and fight for a cause that wasn’t his. What did he have to show for his years of service? A mountain full of regrets and a thousands dead bystanders? Why was the war even being fought here? In a village?! If only things could be moved to the fields, then the two armies could go on slaughtering each other without threating innocent people. Surely even the Germans could agree with that.
The soldier was just considering going to his commanding officer – and proposing a negation with the enemy to move the battlefield – when he felt a slight tug at his uniform. Turning and looking down, the soldier saw a young girl, gazing up at him.
She was certainly a sight to behold. She had shoulder-length hair, brown eyes, and wore a tattered red dress and shoes. In one of her arms was crooked a brown, woven basket, filled with a different assortment of flowers. Although she was covered from head to toe in deep cuts and bruises, the girl didn’t look the least bit scornful towards the soldier. In fact, she wore a radiant smile on her face, giving the impression that she’d come across a long lost friend.
The soldier had never seen this girl before, but he knew who she was – she was known even amongst the German soldiers. Nobody knew her name, so (for obvious reasons) she was referred to as the ‘Flower Girl’. Whenever a cease-fire had been called, she’d always appeared in the same cheerful, go-lucky manner, as if blind to the death and misery around her.
The two strangers stared at each other in dead silence for a while. Then, reaching into her basket, the girl took out a small daisy. She stared lovingly at it for a moment, before silently offering it to the solider. He hesitated at first, but accepted the blossom, holding it in the palm of his hand. The girl gave a satisfied smile and hurried away down the street, vanishing from sight into a nearby alleyway.
The solider stared after her. From what he’d heard, this wasn’t the first time the Flower Girl had performed this generous act. Whenever she’d appeared she had always done the same thing – approach a solider, offer them a single flower, and then run away without speaking or asking to be thanked. It didn’t matter if the soldier was British or German, a general or a private, or even a medical officer. The girl had always stuck to her ritual of presenting her flowers in the same mute happiness.
Nobody could understand why she did this. The girl’s flower-giving wasn’t because she supported either side in the war – not when she gave flowers to both sides. And why would she go through the trouble of presenting them to the very men who’d destroyed her home? How could she stay so cheerful after that? It was all very confusing.
The soldier pocketed the daisy and began heading back to the village outskirts, where the rest of the British army was encamped. He was more determined than ever to convince his general to move fighting away from this village. Especially if meant protecting the Flower Girl.

Several days later, the soldier again found himself on the frontlines of battle. The British and German armies were engaged in an open field, several miles from the village. Bombing and gunfire shattered the air, as grey clouds covered the landscape in an eerie darkness.
The soldier was grateful to his commanding officer for moving the war to this new location. But getting him to do it hadn’t been easy. Initially, the general had refused to negotiate with the “German scum”, and even accused the soldier of being a traitor for suggesting it. He wouldn’t listen to the latter’s defence of protecting innocent lives, or having better fighting conditions. All he cared about was his pride, and he wouldn’t have negotiated to save the lives of his children.
That day the soldier realised just how much the war had poisoned his general. The villagers were nothing but annoying obstacles to him these days. It didn’t matter to him that women and children were dying, just that enemies were living. His sole purpose for eventually agreeing to a negotiation was so he could eradicate the German army faster. He would’ve gladly massacred the whole village if it meant destroying the enemy.
There was no question that the general was insane. And his madness seemed to have rubbed off on the whole battlefield. Chunks of land were blown to pieces, leaving gaping holes and overturned piles of dirt. Men were outnumbered by enemies and preyed upon like rabbits. Boys as young as sixteen were screaming for death as their liver and intestines lay gashed out on the ground beside them.
It was too much for the soldier to bare. He couldn’t tell the difference between friends and enemies anymore; the Great War had changed them all into savage beasts, hungry for blood and revenge. Why did they suffer for other people’s mistakes? Why did those people send unwilling men to die for them? What was the point of all this death?! Why was there even a war?!!
The soldier felt so angry he could’ve killed anyone – British or German. He could’ve gone up to those German tanks and smashed them. He could’ve kicked his leader in the head, until the madness bled from his ears, he could’ve…
Just then, something caught the soldier’s eye in the distance. At first he thought it was a pool of blood, because he was used to associating the colour with nothing else. But it moved. Intrigued, the soldier calmed his rage and tried to focus on the object. As he did, he saw it was…
The soldier’s heart stopped.
It couldn’t be. Not here! Surely he was just imaging…but there was no mistaking the red dress! Why was she…?! How could she…?!
In a fit of panic, the soldier dropped his gun and made a frantic dash for what he saw. It didn’t matter to him that he was ignoring direct orders. Or that he was foolishly charging into enemy lines unprotected. All that mattered to him was that there was a little girl on the battlefield, and she had to be gotten to safety.
The solider was death and blind to everything else around him. He dodged bullets with unnatural flexibility – and only half the determination – though he would’ve taken a thousand of them if he could just reach to his destination quicker. He could see the Flower Girl was terrified.
Before he could get to her, however, the soldier witnessed something truly horrifying. In what looked like an act of suicide, the girl ran towards one of the German tanks and suddenly threw herself to the ground – right into the path of its oncoming tracks!
Mortified, the soldier began frantically waving and screaming at the tank driver to stop; not caring that he was making himself the easiest target in all of Europe – some German soldiers were too baffled to even take aim. Amazingly it worked, and the tank did stop.
But it was already too late. The 33-ton monster had run over the little girl’s body, crushing her fragile figure into the muddy ground below.
The soldier’s heart had turned to ice. The world inside his head had gone silent. Never had he experienced mortal dread like this. It was as though he’d just witnessed his own daughter’s murder. Reaching the tank, the soldier began pushing it – insanely believing he could move the machine alone. The tank driver reversed; freeing the girl. But the soldier already knew it was hopeless. The girl’s injuries were too severe. She’d never survive even with medical attention.
The Germans weren’t taking advantage of the soldier’s vulnerability right now, but he couldn’t care less why. This little girl’s fatality had been one too many. Kneeling down, the soldier gently picked her up, into his arms. To his astonishment, she opened her eyes.
The girl appeared to recognise the soldier and gave him a weak smile. This only made him want to cry. He wanted to say something of comfort, but no words came to mind. He was as silent as the girl had been the day they’d met. If anything, though the soldier felt the girl should be given a proper burial. She didn’t deserve to die here amongst these blood-shedding monsters, it just wouldn’t be right. The soldier stood up, intending to carry the girl away.
That’s when he saw them.
Across the battlefield, the soldier saw every other British and German soldier staring at him in complete awe. They stood still as statues, with their eyes unblinking. That was when the soldier realised the silence hadn’t just been in his head. Ever since the girl had been run over there’d no gunshots, no explosions, and no screaming. This was because the so-called ‘blood shedding monsters’ had all witnessed the girl’s peril, too – some of the German soldiers had even tried to warn the tank driver themselves. The shock of seeing the Flower Girl crushed had brought an abrupt end to their massacre. Even the soldier’s deranged general had shown mercy when he’d seen the red dress go under the tanks grinding tracks.
The soldier was so mesmerized by the scene that he didn’t notice the Flower Girl was trying to get his attention. He looked down at her and saw she was clenching something. Slowly opening her hand, she revealed a poppy.
A poppy? The soldier was confused. Where had the girl gotten a …? Then a thought suddenly occurred to him. He looked back to where he’d picked the girl up. A small bed of poppies was growing exactly where she’d been laying – they were slightly crushed under her weight, but still alive. The solider then turned his eyes over the battlefield. Amongst the blood and dead bodies, he began to notice remnants of other flowers: dandelions, buttercups, bluebells, daisies …
Daisies? The soldier suddenly remembered the daisy he had in his pocket. A miserable expression appeared on his face. He understood now. And he felt just horrible.
This field had been where the Flower Girl had grown her flowers. It was the most important place in the world to her. But now, because of this war, it’d been destroyed. Tanks, missiles and heavy boots had killed all of her precious blossoms, until only these poppies remained. She’d tried desperately to save them, and ended up paying the ultimate price because of it.
If he still had his gun, the soldier would’ve taken his own life there and then. He couldn’t help but feel he was responsible for the Flower Girl’s imminent death. After all, he’d been the one to suggest moving the war to this exact field. How could he live with himself knowing he’d caused all this?
Just then the solder noticed the Flower Girl was holding the poppy up to him – which wasn’t easy considering she was very limp. The soldier understood what she wanted. Very carefully he took the poppy from her grasp and held it between his fingers. The girl gave a weak, but cheerful smile. And then, in a voice so low hardly anyone could hear it, she whispered a single word.
“Peace.”
The soldier never forgot it until his dying day.
Seconds later the girl closed her eyes and her arm fell limp, never to be raised again. Every British and German soldier looked on in distain – especially those who’d encountered the girl personally.
The soldier couldn’t help himself. He dropped to his knees and broke down in tears. It all made sense now. Why the girl had given her flowers. Why she’d risked her own life to protect them. It was simple.
She’d wanted it to stop; the fighting; the killing; the war; all of it. She may’ve looked like a bright and cheerful lass. But on the inside she was a scared, miserable girl, who just wanted her suffering to end. Her flowers had been her way of reminding the soldiers that there was still beauty and love in the world. It wasn’t just about blood or vengeance or following your duty. But that wasn’t all.
This Great War had started because people in other countries couldn’t agree with one another. Disagreements had led to hatred, hatred lead to killing, killing lead to war. And it just kept going from there. If they’d only taken the time to look at what was the same they’d realise they were all human beings. And, as human beings, they could work together to solve the world’s problems. The girl had given flowers to different ranking soldiers on both sides, because they’d all been equal in her view. If they could just see that for themselves then there’d be no need for disagreements or war.
That was the message the Flower Girl had been trying to give. And it was received well and clear.
A British soldier suddenly threw down his gun. A German soldier did the same. Then, one by one, each and every British and German soldier laid down his weapon. A beam of golden sunlight broke through the grey clouds and gleamed over the little girl’s face. They all bowed their heads – some even kneeled – in respect to the fallen angel who had reminded them of peace.
One general took out a fob watch and noted the time: November 11th, 1918, 11:00am. And in that moment, he knew the war was over.