|
This is the spot for anyone who wants to read or share poetry, lyrics, plays, stories, or other creative writing. Dream, Create, Express
|
|
Invite friend
Black Roses
|
|
|||||
I wrote this a few months ago. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!Black Roses At the end of the day, the sun slowly set, painting the sky in a brilliant rainbow of colors. She looked across the golden field, staring at the horizon. Her expression was that of one who is looking for something, but cannot figure out quite what. A slight breeze stirred the tall grass, creating the semblance of waves. Her hair moved slightly as she looked down at her lap, and the three black roses that lay upon it. The roses meant something, of that she was certain, but she did not remember, not yet. It had been a long time since she needed to remember anything, since she walked anywhere but through that field. Still she kept the roses. The color of the flowers would be termed vibrant, were it any other color. The blackness was so utterly absolute that all other colors seemed to fall into it, as it swallowed them. As the sky slowly darkened, the fearful sensation of vertigo became less jarring. She turned away from them, looking again at the sun. It had almost completely vanished, all having disappeared below the horizon save a tiny sliver. She stood up slowly, her legs quietly protesting the change. Soon, the feeling passed. She held the flowers to her face, breathing in softly and deeply. Three black roses. She closed her eyes. She remembered their meaning now. Three roses. Three lovers. Three chances in life. Her first love came during her sixth summer. Her mother smiled at her eagerness to walk to the park three blocks away from her house. She sternly told the young girl to settle down, though the smile still remained in her eyes. Taking her daughter's hand, she guided the girl through the door, shutting the screen behind them. As they walked along the sidewalk, the girl impatiently ran ahead, tugging on her mother's arm. The older woman could not help but laugh at her open and carefree innocence. The girl swung back and forth on the swing joyfully. After a time, she noticed a shy young boy, still standing close to his own mother. With her encouragement, he slowly stepped forward. The girl stopped the swing, asking if he wanted to play with her. At a smile from his mother, he nodded. She led him to the sandbox, and they played there for what felt like hours. The sun still shone brightly when his mother came back to take him home. She could see that same swing now, in her mind's eye. It was a simple thing, just a plank of wood attached to a chain on either side. It swung back and forth gently, as if its occupant had only left it a moment before. In the scene, the shy boy watched the swing silently from the shadows. She had never learned his name. Her second love did not come until much later. After elementary school, she retreated far inside herself, choosing to remain aloof from her peers. It did not win her many friends, much less boyfriends. But it kept her safe. When she did fall in love, it was from afar. Although her high school class was large, there were three boys who were mutually accepted as the most popular boys in the school. In reality, only two of them conformed to the usual standards of “popular.” They had large groups of friends, went to all the parties, knew almost everyone on sight. They dated sporadically, rarely being seen with the same girl for two weeks in a row. And they seemed immune to social gaffes of any sort. They were called – humorously, it was thought at the time – the kings of the school. The third boy was different. His status as the friend of the other two granted him the inclusion into the popular crowd as an honorary member. But as far as anyone knew, he had only those two friends, and had only dated a couple of easily forgettable girls throughout his high school years. People knew he existed, of course, but he was much more likely to be at the edge of a room, rather than the center. Few made the effort to talk to him, and few knew what he was really like. But the girl watched him, interested with his unusual status. Slowly, she learned more and more about him, and grew to know him. Not the kind of knowledge that can be taught, nor the kind of knowledge that his friends held, of what to say and how to act and how to snag the next girl in a never-ending succession. She simply knew exactly how he felt, and what he thought, and who he was. Along the way, she fell in love. She never told him. She hadn't seen the point; by the time she admitted her feelings to herself, it was only a few months away from graduation. What use was a relationship that lasted only a moment of her life? As they graduated, she thought about how ironic it was that she had fallen in love with a boy she never spoke a word to. She left the ceremony immediately after receiving her diploma, never once looking back. Her third love came when she was thirty-five years old. She had gone out to a bar that night with the pure intention of getting drunk. The world had crushed her, tiring her and aging her far beyond her years. She downed glass after glass of beer, until she could barely see. She vaguely remembered muttering something about a cab to the bartender. The next morning, she woke up in an unfamiliar bed. After a few moments of panic, she blearily looked down at herself and was relieved to find that her clothes had remained on, and that she was the only person currently occupying the bed. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, winced, then fought through the hangover to walk out of the room. It got slightly less difficult as she walked, eventually dulling to merely a groaning pain. She found the man sleeping on the couch outside. She punched him in the arm to make him wake up, asking him if he belonged to the bed she had slept in. It was, perhaps, an odd beginning to a relationship. But as time went on, their compatibility became more and more obvious. Two years after the incident at the bar, he proposed. She froze. She knew nothing about marriage, and in fact had never even thought about the issue in all the time that they had dated. So she ran. She never saw him again. She opened her eyes. The first rose was beginning to change. She watched it curiously, as it slowly lightened. It was as if the color was being bleached out, over and over again until the flower was a bright, perfect white. As soon as the first transformation ended, the next began. The second rose brightened to a pale pink. The third followed suit, this time turning a deep, brilliant red. White for innocent love. Pink for childlike love. Red for passionate love. Three roses. Three lovers. Three chances. One man, her love for him running through the stories like flowing water, connecting them all. She smiled sadly, walking on through the field. The sun had now set, and the sky was black. Only the moonlight illuminated her three roses. There was no path, but still she walked on. There would be no more chances for her. Even three, she reflected, was too much to hope for, in one lifetime. But she would stay here, as the sun rose and set and rose again. She held up her three roses – one white, one pink, one red – and allowed the next gust of wind to carry them into the night. And she walked on. |
||||||
Share this Link
|
|
Join this Spot
Sign In or join Fanpop to add your comment