The Silent Hope

　

Prologue:

The Flower

　

　

When I was a child, I found slight pleasure in collecting Esperanza roses. Today, they still fascinate me, with their black beauty, ironic, considering that they are named after hope. Now, as an adult, and a new responsibility, I keep them close to me, on my dresser, in my pockets, in my braid...

...All because my mother gave me hope, even after she had died. On her death bed, she had given me the most beautiful Esperanza, the most beautiful hope that I could ever had wanted. One so stunning, that it has lasted me the past eleven years, still sustaining its black, velvet petals.

Sometimes, if I gently caressed its petals, I could still smell my mother's tears, and I could still hear her sorrowful voice calling my name. "Esperanza, Esperanza! Come, come and sit with me, my daughter!" I did as I was told, and she placed that glorious rose on my chest, on my heart, and spoke her very last words to me. "Have my love, and let this rose symbolize the eternal quest I shall face, and the one you will soon chase."

She laid her head down on her white pillow, closed her eyes, and entered her eternal slumber. I let myself cry, and the pain that I felt slipped out from within me, through my tears that were as clear as the sea in Mexico. As I gazed out the window, I felt like the crow outside...burdened by the curses of the world, and the sorrow of death. The sun had escaped below, and now the moon's light seeped through the curtains of her room, covering us all in silent misery. My heart had left me, along with the person sheltering it, and a hollow shell had taken its place.

But today, of all days, I find myself staring at the same rose, crying wordlessly. I realized then, as the wails of the crow outside my window rang in my ears, that the esperanza would never die, never wither with the weight of my pain, or that of others.

I did not stop crying.

　

Chapter One:

Pretty

　

Today was just an ordinary day, with the ordinary sun, the ordinary hum of people, and the most ordinary beat of hearts. But I felt so empty, almost like a shell that needed love, that needed feeling. My eyes grazed the faces of familiar and distant citizens, wanting to know how they did it, how they smile.

I stopped writing a while ago, and now I was just staring out the windows, feeling the hot sun baking my skin. I ignored the children playing outside, happy and jumping around, because I felt nothing. The only thing I felt was the pen under my hand, with my fingers grasping its life, trying desperately to write down my feelings, trying hard to clear away my sadness.

My brother was dying. He was the only child that I played with, the only one that made me smile. His name was Ruben, and even though he was a year older than me, he treated me the same as any other fourteen year old child. Others teased me, about my eyes, my hair, my face, my height. Everything.

Ruben protected me from them, and took me to eat ice cream, and enjoy my young life. But now, he has been diagnosed with cancer, and it was eating him alive. So I tried to write my emotions down on a piece of paper, tried so hard, but I always failed. The only thing on the paper were tears, staining the whiteness grey.

Breathing was becoming difficult, but I progressed, and erased the thought of Ruben from my mind. So now, I was just faced with the happy children who teased me, some even hated me, others ignored me completely. My brows furrowed in anger, hating them as well. One looked my way, catching my eyes with his. He stared into mine for a few seconds, then quickly turned away.