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«𝕃𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖»

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«𝕃𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖»
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In a table decorated by a simple white tablecloth stood a bunch of flowers where two of them could be defined as standing out and overshadowing the others. There stood a bunch of flowers burned in which two of them were intact, not bothered by the time flying by. There stood two roses where one could be seen as bloody red while the other was beautifully yet unusually yellow. There, in a table decorated by a simple white tablecloth stood a beautifully yet unusually yellow rose that seemed to be slowly becoming black as time passed, yellow now overwhelmed by black stain. Now looking at it, the room seemed so bland yet anyone entering it could guess that things happened here, you couldn't exactly know what but that odd feeling anyone had when watching the only two roses standing were telling them not to question it.

The yellow rose could be known as Mike Morton, a beautiful man in his 20s that was yet already tired of living. He fought it for a long time yet could never see this white flowered path every time he tried to get better. He asked for help many times to anyone that had their ears out to listen to his desperate cry of pain that seemed to be helding back so much, however no matter how much he cried, how much he screamed for help and how much he was desperate to find a way out from all of this they couldn't help him and he knew they never would even if the chance was given to them. They were never able to as no one seemed to be understanding him, or mayhaps they did not even bother to care for someone like him ? All he knew was that those black roses always speaking to him so loudly were always opening their mouths to say the exact same thing in every single days, hours, minutes and seconds of his life making him wish he could find a way to make them shut it everyday he was waking up in that dusty and cold bed that seemed to never welcome Mike's body warmth. He really tried to get help but all he was greeted with were those fake smiles and worried glances thrown at his way as they tried to make it seem like they cared for him but he knows they didn't mean anything as he could see that their eyes were never following their actions, staying motionless as their mouths was smiling like they were Mike's family. But he knew that these people were not his family and would never be able to replace them no matter how much they tried because they could never care for him, not like they did. They could never love him, not like they did. They could not show him affection, not like they did. He couldn't feel compassionate to them.

They were just a bunch of black stained roses just like he was, ending up in the very same and singular bouquet for making the same mistake he did. They were all trying to survive the best way they could without worrying about such trivial things as love, affection or even compassion so, in the end, how could they love him if they couldn't even love themselves first ?

So everything was settled : He would find his way to this white flowered path forcefully if he couldn't get it naturally and may god -Which he had little to no believing in- forgive him for doing such sin -sin that would've been avoidable if he were to be merciful on his life-. He knew it was possible and he knew that if he were to achieve that he'd be able to see those burned flowers he cherished so much again, leaving behind this red rose that tormented his life since the very beginning of this deathly game, destroying everything he was able to build with his very own hands to make him unable to feel again, unable to build one of those colorful bouquet again -how he wished to be able to do so again-. He would be seeing them again, he'd be able to see his dear father once again and even though he wasn't the most affectionate one of the band but he still loved him to the point of dying just so he could join him to the afterlife and maybe he would perform again ? Who knows, the people who were able to cross the white flowered path were never there to speak about it afterwards after all.