White Roses

I wanted to write something about how red roses became what they are. Even though white roses never existed ;)

  A young man breaths in the chilly air as it reaches to the sky. He doesn't do much other then breaths and linger in the moonlight as he slowly falls asleep. He looks to the sky and dreams of the people who are looking at the same sky as he does. The young man is draped in clothes of all colors that shines off his white, silky skin. He leans on the beam to the door of his room; to look outside on his many white rose flowers that reflect in the moonlight. His gaze is cold as he stares across them all. When he had looked at them, "there is hope in this world," he thought. "maybe not everything is the same. People who can run. People who are free. Not everyone has to have chains that hold them down." His thoughts always ran loose; always thinking of the outside world. Always running in place wishing to be able to lead a path.Yet, he is stuck. In the small temple that no one pays any attention to anymore. 
Years ago, there was village that were scared and in their fear they built a temple. Also gave a young boy to the temple they had built. Things got better for the village and soon forgot about the young boy. After awhile the bushes and trees clinged to the small temple to hide the home. Eventually, the boy died. His body may of slowly disappeared but his soul was bound to the small temple that was offered to the god. The only place where the boy had slept was where he always remained. Leaned up against the beam that led to what once was his room. Looking out to the white roses; asking and telling stories to them as they grew and died themselves. 
One clear night as he was dozing off. A noise was made and as his blurry vision got better. He saw people fighting. He did not understand the words they spoke. Just shrieks and screams he heard. The young man slowly got up and his cloths dragged on the white roses then he stopped. His eyes widened and a tear went down his check. Tears had never fallen from his face before and the young man was confused at what he had just seen. 
The 2 people that fought one was on the ground and the other shaking in their shoes ran away. The blood had seeped to the pure white roses that the young man held dear to him. He did not cry for the person that was murdered in front of his eyes. It was for the white roses that were no longer pure but contaminated with the blood of a human. 
for the blood spread deep within the seeds and slowly the white roses also disappeared and was forgotten just like the young boy. His soul is yet to be bound their in the small temple that's now taken by the forest. when night comes. you can hear the weeping boy with the cloths of many colors. some say he holds the last white rose.
rumors spread like any other tail. Just this one is a tail that's not often told.