Yellow Roses

A Story by 0AudreyClaire0

Hese were not the wilted roses he picked just hours before. These were much too bright and happy. There were his wife's.

      Zach listened to the wind blowing through the trees; soft and melotic. He closed his eyes, wishing, praying that everything would disappear. He had read about people doing such things in novels and now, just like in the novels, it didn't work. His eyes shot open, scooping the cobblestone house in front of him. It was nearly dark out but there was just enough light to make out the wilting yellow roses in the flowerbed. A raggid breath escaped his lips. Wanting nothing more than to turn around and run away, he stepped forward. Just one step. And althought the step may have been small to anyone watching, it was one huge step to Zach.
     His hand reached out to the wooden gate before him. He gripped the splintered wood with white knuckles as he summoned up the courage to open it. Taking a deep breath, he pushed on it. It squeaked and squealed on old, rusted hinges as it slowly slid along the dirt pathway. Zach winced at the sound before planting a heavy foot in the dirt. Slowly, he made his way to the worn red door, making sure to keep his eyes from lingering on the roses on either side of him. After fumbling with the keys in his pocket, he unlocked the door with a shaky hand.
      The door groaned as it opened. Zach reached inside and ran his hand along the ruff walls in search of the light switch. He flicked it on and almost feel to his knees right there. He sucked in a deep breath, his resolve threatening to break. Everything was just as he left it. How she left it before she left him. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the memories of burning, smashed cars from flooding his head. After a moment, he regained his composure and stepped inside.
      Zach shivered from the cool air inside, although he was sure that wasn't the only reason. Her shoes we still piled by the door. Her coat still hanging on the coat rack. He shoved his keys back in his pocket as he kicked his shoes off, right next to hers. He walked down the hall to the kitchen. The white colored cabinets hurt his eyes against the growing darkness from outside the window above the sink. He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a clear glass vase. He walked over to the sink and filled the vase with water.
      Carefully, he carried the vase to the dinning room and placed the vase down in the center of the small table. He moved to the kitchen and opened the junk drawer and pulled out a pair of shears. He walked back to the hall and stared at the door. He knew he would have to face them sooner or later. And no matter how much he wished he could just avoid them, he knew there was no point. He took a deep breath and walked to the door, slipping his shoes back on. He grabbed the cool handle and pulled the door open.
      Zach stepped into the cool air, squinting against the darkness. He hadn't realized how late it was. Cautiously, he turns to the side, trying to avoid falling on his face, and stepped onto the dying grass. His eyes were adjusting and he could now make out the rose bushes in front of him. He stepped closer and started clipping the stem of a flower. He squeezed the shears closed and the bush rustled with the force, wilted yellow petals falling to the ground.
     His vision was blurring as he clipped his wife's favorite flower. He missed the way her face would light up when he bought a dozen yellow roses on their anniversary. How she would smile and thank him with a gentle kiss. Soon, his hand was full of wilted roses. He pushed himself off the ground, brushed off the dirt and grass and walked back inside. Walking straight for the dinning room he placed the flowers in the vase. He watched as some of the petals drifted to the table.
      Zach climbed the stairs and, after a quick shower, he changed into his pajamas. He spotted his suitcases sitting in the corner of his room. His sister had brought them earlier that day for him. He still wasn't ready to visit his empty house. For the past two weeks his sister let him stay with her while he mourned. And Zach was nothing but grateful.
      Pulling back the white downfeather comforter, he slid into bed. He turned to the side, all to aware of the empty pillow next to him. Tears pooled in his eyes at the memory of his wife sleeping next to him. Pulling the cover over his head, he silently cried. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that she would never be back. His beautiful and careing wife was gone. Instead, visions of his wife after the crash filled his mind. Of her bruised face and arms. He couldn't stand it. After some time, he pushed the covers back from over his head. He jolted into a sitting position when he heard a loud creaking noise.
      His eyes swiftly scaned the area. Once they fell on the closet he scrammbled to his feet, groaning as his leg tangled in the sheets. He watched with wide eyes as the closet door slowly crept open. In all of the years that he lived here, he never remembered this happeneing. Suddenly, the door slammed shut and Zach almost fell backwards from shock. Reaching out, he opened the door and let go. He waited to see if it would slam again but it stayed put. He gave it a small push and it slowly slid closed.
      Puzzled and half asleep he walked downstairs. He rubbed his tired eyes as he entered the kitchen. Grabbing a glass out of the cabinet he walked to the sink and filled it. Groggily, he padded out of the kitchen, glass in hand. As he walked by the dinning room the glass in his hand slid and shattered, spilling cold water on the wooden floor. He stared at the flowers, tears falling from his eyes. They perched happily in their vase, fresh and wide. The bright yellow nearly jumped from the gorgeous flowers. His eyes fell to the table were the wilted petals had fallen but there were no petals there. These were not the wilted roses he had picked just hours before. These were much too bright and happy. These were his wife's.