Withered Moss

Love & death

Do you know why people die of love?

Decades ago, when the flowers grew colder from the east wind, Iived a young maiden. A mushroom-like cottage was her only heaven in that cruel world. Every morning, her surrounding grew of mosses wherever her delicate finger touched. Unlike you and me, the maiden loved the moss. Even when worms crawled in it, even when it showed it's greenish ugly skin, she loved it. She loved it cause it was from her; her soul; her body; her mind. And because she loved it, the moss became beautiful; it grew elegant leaves and made its ugly appearance brighter. It became a home to pretty insects and kept the evil away.

Do you remember, when I said it was winter?; It's still winter.

Frost was everywhere, the pond was shinier, and the trees looked like jewels in the morning rays. Not so far from the cottage, grew a rose. Not a rose, but a splendid one. It was red as the persimmon growing nearby. Even in winter, it shines when its green leaves gracefully fluttered in the wind. It didn't take much time for the maiden to find out about the rose. She squatted down and gleamed at the rose with her jewel-black eyes. She traced her finger down the petals. With each touch, she could feel the desire from the rose. Petals, buds, leaves, and then it's warm stem. Just a little more, she thought. Suddenly, she felt a pain so awful yet lustful. She didn't want to take her finger, as it pricked its throne inside her flesh. She didn't want to let it go, as her blood trickled down and patched up the white snow. Night fell down, the moon looked pitifully at the young maiden. He warned her about the awful truth. She didn't listen. She went there every day, to just take a look at that beautiful sight again. The moon warned her again. She came back until her mosses died down. It showed its ugly skin again. Not fed by love; it cried again. Worms came and took shelter in its filthy leaves. Fresh blood flood on the base of the rose; feeding it till midnight. Until one day, the maiden couldn't take the pain anymore; and she opened her eyes to look for it. The rose didn't have any leaves anymore, just more thrones where rings of blood surrounded. Behind her, the moss had died. She touched it looking for a sign of life. Night fell again in that cottage; but this time, the moon hid behind the clouds as its tears gleamed down on the maiden's skin.

"Woah, unnie! That was such a nice story!", "Well, I hope that now you know, why that man on TV went to jail." , "Aha, and I won't end up like that maiden, I promise."

''That's a good girl", I beamed looking down at my weathered hands.