The Fate of a Rose
By: Ethan West
Blood red stains the surface of the intertwining petals. Like a tightly wound knot it keeps its grip. Clasping around its own heart, letting the center of it just barely see the light that strained to give it life. Large thorns thrust them self from its body, ready for the soft hand that would unwittingly pierce itself on them. Yearning for the high pitched scream that would rent the air asunder. Relishing the taste of blood as it slid sinisterly down its stem as the screams turned to tears. The wails of its victim excited it, and made it want to spread itself out. To take in the beautiful misery it had caused. But it could not move. It would wait there until a rubber hand would pluck it from the brush. Breaking the thorns that gave it joy, and then the very people it had oppressed would watch as it wilted and died in the windowsill.
The sun beat down on its mangled corpse as its torturers plucked it once again from its perch. Tossing it in the garbage, the lid closing over its broken form. Then all was black...
Such is the fate of a rose....