Red Rosies in a Black Sky

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
this is a descriptive writing piece i wrote for a school project.
its set over a period of a night and a day!
interpret as you wish...

Submitted: October 13, 2012

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Submitted: October 13, 2012




Rosalie lay in bed, far from weary; she gathered her ivory curtains into her hand and constricted them. She pressed her face onto a pane of glass that fabricated her window so that her grass green eyes could adjust to the duskiness of the midnight sky.

The juvenile girl scrutinized the peaceful street that rested below her. It was abundant with houses whose sombre vales fell across their secluded lawns. The luminosity of the rusty street lamp was the only source of light as the moon was unperceivable behind a sky full of ash clouds.

Rosalie sighed, as she twisted her coral like amber hair she wondered why her street always seemed to be in black and white and never colour. She returned her gaze back onto the once deserted street. A Gentleman perched on the once forlorn bench his top hat upside down in his burly yet smooth hands. His delicate face and caramel eyes made Rosalie long to run outside and comfort him but as the cacophony of the approaching kraut planes rang around her street the lamp was plunged into obliteration.

She left her residence with only a wax candle for light, and crossed the Siberian like tarmac road. Rosalie quietly hustled along the ground, the breathless verdure crunched under her feet. The air smelled as it had been filled with the cries of a hundred burning cities. A think hue of smoke drifted along her street taking its time before engulfing the flame. Now blinded Rosalie pushed out her arms so that they where parallel to the concrete beneath her.

Slowly, she took a step forward. Deliberately placing one foot in front of the other she made her away across her once deserted street until she was back on the other side. The boisterous thud of a nearby town under attack was the only sound she could hear. Her lungs now where bursting with intoxicating substances and she collapsed on the concrete foundation that her street was built on.


A shard of colour broke through the haze gently opening Graham’s eyes. With a burly hand he protected his eyes from the tangelo light as he forced himself up.

The intensity of the dwindling street lamp was a glare in the incandescent day where the once occupied bench lay collapsed on its side. Graham took a firm step forward. The searing concrete blistered his bare feet as he advanced down towards the picture that lay before him. The bushes that once made up the side of the street lay dying as the rest of the street looked like it had fallen into colour.

The unaccustomed shell of a fiery red missile had been pushed to the brink of the street; all around him men and women dressed in drab clothes where consoling their offspring yet he was all forsaken. He looked down, his pitch black top hat lay there enclosed between his feet on top of an accumulation of debris. He could hear the policeman say that there were few casualties but the words did not register within his mind. A child’s ball rolled onto the singed grass and a young boy with his arm in a make-shift sling sauntered of to collect it.

Graham tried to laugh but his lungs screamed out to him begging him to stop.

He took another step forward. Something soft pressed into his sole. Cautiously he looked down immediately locking eyes with one of those who did not survive. A young girl lay at the side of the road. Her pasty arms lay by her side. Next to her amber hair lay a pool of venetian red blood which reflected the light and had cast a shadow onto the green spring bud verdure.

He swept the layers of soil from her French rose gown. Her rouge lips where dry as flakes. Those grass green eyes which he had seen the night before where cold and passive. A bright tiffany blue cloud swam low; it to left a shadow from where it had passed as it was the only thing active.

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