Withered Roses Shall Rise

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A sequel to Black Roses comes Withered Roses Shall Rise. An unforgettable tale of Death living life after an unbearable death he sentenced to a wonderful little girl. Travel in through pain, bitter tears to witness the life of yet another creation.



Copyright LoneStallion54

Submitted: June 15, 2014

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Submitted: June 15, 2014

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The rose is joy, peace, patience, kindness, life, everything you have ever known lies in that one rose. That rose determines your destiny, but I determine your life. It this rose that is your energy, what gives you hope. Yes it all because of that rose. Now the rose is a symbol of everything, you may not see a rose in every place you go but it is there. Although you just may not see it but I can assure you that I can see that rose, and I have seen it for a very long time.


What is life? Is life the bright red rose. No. Or is it? There are so many questions yet no answers unwrap themselves from the folds of a book to be destined for greatest. No, instead they are ugly cowards hiding from the unbearing truth of their greatness. They bask in the shade of the pages of a the welcoming book, laughing as they tear up the only answers ever to be found.

 

After that girl I still went about my usual life, even though it was never the same. I will admit it was torture without that girl.. she meant.. everything to me. I am not desperate or anything but sometimes when I look up into the sky and see a falling star… I wish she would rise out of the ground in a joy and run to me. If that can happen then maybe this withered rose I have shall rise. But alas wishes are for children, not for grown demon like creatures.


When I look at a girl I see her face, oh how it burns my memory. Flashes of smiling teeth, grasping hand, red strawberries. Nothing has been the same since that little girl died. Why can’t you bring her back, I am begging you please! Just give her one more chance! Once again the heavens stay silent, silent as death. I grab a rock off of the broken excuse for a gravel road and I heave it. While that rock sails through the air I think of it as me, how I want to just heave myself to ground pleading for that girl back.

 

I drag myself down to the empty boulevard, sitting myself down on the rusty railing. My eyes find the star, it has to be hers. After All it shines the brightest. Am I going to spend the rest of my life grieving over her? Maybe, maybe not. Who knows.

I absent mindedly stick my hand into my thick black pant pocket stumbling upon that rose. That deathly black rose. Over the years I have found myself collecting those roses from every child I have stolen from. They lie in a oval shaped jar upon my shelf containing each black rose I know. Pain stings my memory over that little girl as I stroke the rose hoping to find comfort. It doesn’t help. If it pains you so much, then why do you keep it? I don’t know why I did what I did next but I ripped out that rose from my pocket, and I shredded it… I shredded it into little crumples of broken sorrows. Stupid I didn’t mean it literally it was a question not a suggestion. I sink to the ground in a puddle of tears. I didn’t want to tear the rose, it just happened. Why am I so quick to attempt something? Why can’t I be calm like Peace? I already know the answer. Because you're death.  

 

 

How many years can you last with the suffering? With the pain of knowing that you killed a little girl. That you a greedy demon stole a  child’s soul, took their life, you took what was theirs! How can you live with the guilt?

 

The world has started a war with itself, it snorts bitter, disgust out of its nostrils. It’s a laughing stock to everyone, but at the same time it’s a bully. More of a killer, and a mockery. Cringe at the sight of it, fear it, hate it, despise it, love it. Doesn’t matter what you think about the world just don’t get on its bad side. That’s the one rule, the one rule. Because if you do there will be no mercy.

 

Thunder crackles, flashing cameras as the wind runs its hands through the spines of trees. Souls scream for their roses. Are they alive? Am I hearing things? Hands rise from the ashes of the graves. Each name engraved on a cement slate splits in two, as they rise. The heavens burst open in a joyous sound of light. The children are suddenly standing above their confinment smirking at it like a trouble maker. They run, run, run to me. To me. Small fingers close around my cape tugging gently but harder when I don’t bend down. I eventually do and there she is. The same land of strawberry hair that I loved, and that I still love. She spreads out her arms to me, hugging my softly with comfort. I wipe away a tear after she lets go, this is really goodbye now. She is leaving for the heavens. It was only a rest stop on her journey, a journey that ended not years ago, not months ago but minutes ago. A thought hits me like hooves. The roses. The dead black roses. If I give them back will they turn red again? With a snap of my decaying fingers the jar of thousands of withered, dead black roses appears in my hand. I close my eyes choosing the first rose for the first child. Petal after petal I hand back the roses that flash with color. A red color. The girl taps me on the shoulder.

 

Where’s my rose?

 

That voice, it kills. How do I tell her that I tore it up?

 

I shake my head. She seems to understand. For when she reaches into my pocket, she finds the shredded black rose petals. Her hand closes around them, turning them to my surprise back into a perfectly formed blood red rose.

 

Here, it belongs to you. It always has.

 

She whispers into my ear.

 

I take the rose rubbing the petals in relief. I have finally done something good, even though I’m an evil, horrid creature. Finally after all those years, all those souls I have taken, and those roses I have stolen…. well those withered roses finally rose.

 

 

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2020 LoneStallion54. All rights reserved.

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