The Rose Garden

To S.P - June 23/07

He led her to the stone wall near the entrance, the stark light sapphire through the fog, the moss along the ridge and the bank. He coveted her beauty and her movements. The tangible cries she'd beg and commit nothing half as obtrusive as the single inspiration. It was for her, the garden. The roses in pattern to their walkway.

 

She said nohing, the air was so still he could hear her breaths. The cold that gathers in the morning, the sun still behind hills and trees and clouds.She pushed the iron gate open and let herself through. After she had walked a fair distance he closed the gate, and set in a silver lock between the parallel bars. She didn't notice. She was singing to herself a melody from her memory, like a druid amongst followers and setting tone by pitch and strength whose devotion to God was only of mercy and delirium.

 

Why shoud God exist for one and not another? She begged to spirits on her knees, she said words to invisible ghosts. Answers to her have found faith as reason to believe. What will happen when she disappears herself? Where will all the dreams go of her? If God exists He will stop me. God will not let me....

 

He watched her now through the trees, her white dress candid against the backlog of spruce and darkly shaded boughs, a ghost herself to him now, but still breathing to show him the way. She stopped by the end of the wall and walked over to touch the marble base of the statue. He called it "Beauty", it was of a weeping woman, her hands against her face catching tears that would otherwise fall. He watched her eyes as she read the engraving to herself: "To Her. To Beauty. To Life - For Death. For Memory. For Me."

 

They moved on, past the red roses planted earllier that spring, their buds about to bloom, their ripeness still unclosed. Few had already blossomed. She stopped at the end to and took one out of its place. She looked down at it, and seemed to smile but which faded too quickly and became nothing at all. She moved past the final growth and came upon the alter. He followed closely behind her. She walked up to the wooden frame and led her hand up and down the post. On it were symbols and letters. She knew already what each one meant, he told her when he made it. He joined her on the altar, he watched as she seemed sad to remember that the only sercret he kept from her was the statue.

 

Why did you lie to me? She said.

 

I never lied to you. He told her. She looked through him, past him to the statue, now only a shape without dimension in the fog. A shadowed diety whose shape itself now unknown to him. Is my memory worth so much as to cause her agony? My memory should not be her pain, but only mine.

 

He looked back at her. She was silent and still starring off to distance. He walked close to her. It's stone, he said, it is just stone.

 

She moved past him and sat down on the edge of the platform. Now is my chance. It has to be now. He walked slowly infront of her and pulled from his pocket a nickel plated gun, he directed it toward her head. She didn't move, but simply closed her eyes. Then he pulled the trigger.... but nothing happened. She was still there, her eyes still closed, but a tear now on her cheek. Her rose still in her hands.

 

Then she said, Why did he have to die? Why couldn't I help him? Then she bowed down to memory and she cried. And she dropped the rose

 

After this he only remembers darkness, always darkness, and memory, memory and darkness.

Author's Note

He's already dead throughout the story. But he doesn't know it.

I was reading something about afterlife, and this story came to me.

Reviews

[Cherrie Palmer]

the ending was sad and empty, you did a great job keeping the ending a secret till the end

[Rose Kavanagh]

Wow, that was a very mysterious and captivating piece. The setting feels as though it is suspended between breathing in and breathing out, which I suppose is fitting for an "afterlife" themed story. Really well done, I enjoyed it immensely :)

[Lauren Marie]

Woah!
Have you ever seen the Sixth Sense? This story reminds me of that movie.
This was a great read; it took me a moment to register that he had already been dead.
This is a favorite!
~Lauren

[KatieDaray]

This piece is interesting and I love it, keep writing, I cant wait to see what you have in the future

[Kevin Vorshak]

Interesting piece. Dreamlike and surreal. I enjoyed the vividness of your descriptions, the roses, the altar, the view of her against the backdrop of spruce. Well written.

[emily]

A very alluring and poignant piece. It was sort of mysterious in the beginning and drew me in right away. A very good write!

[Rachel Koepke]

I thought that it was very well done and I think that you should keep writing. I also agree that it was very good as a short story.my fav parts were the last three paragraphs.....she was still there....her rose still in her hands.....

[Sean Allen]

Very nicely done and thought provoking. It brought to mind a TV show I saw once where the gun had been modified to shoot backwards, killing the one who was firing it rather than the intended victim.
I dont know hat you meant here... "the stark light sapphire through the fog"

[H]

The descriptions are alluring. I'm glad you didn't go overboard with the length, otherwise it would have dragged on and on... It's great as a short little story.