This Brocade is by Tandy Sturgeon and used the words Hate and Unhappiness.
A couple of rows down from his brother’s grave was a grave with daffodils. It was the only bunch of daffodils growing as far as the eye could see. A few graves had dead flowers or plastic flowers lying on them, but this was the only grave where someone had planted bulbs, and he felt resentment for the planter of those bulbs, coming during some anonymous fall maybe years ago and planting those daffodil bulbs, satisfied that there would always be flowers there, year after year. Flowers feeding off soldier’s dead flesh buried below them, the dark matter that would keep them growing year to year. He was angry, mostly at himself for not thinking of the same thing. How many years had gone by as his brother’s flesh disintegrated, feeding nothing but this endless, anonymous green lawn?