Her Songs to a Rose

Chapter 2

With Mother gone, I was alone in this world, with only my roses. I know I’m probably supposed to feel sad, and depressed, but in my heart, I was relieved. Relieved that someone had finally put out the flame in Mother’s eyes, leaving it hollow and blind. 

Neighbors came knocking, trying to peek in through the tinted windows, but I made no sound, leaving them with nothing to do but to go back. 

I knew I couldn’t stay here forever, they would finally find me one day. I started planning, my escape into the real world, it was difficult; difficult to piece my dreams together, difficult to imagine the harsh lives, difficult to survive with no one but my roses. 

The night I left, it was raining, the stormy sky mercilessly heaving buckets onto me, drenching me in a mixture of rain and my own tears. 

I had packed everything I had, which wasn’t much, into a black bag, slinging it over my shoulders as I crossed the pathway leading to my roses. 

“It’s raining hard, isn’t it?” I whispered, expecting an answer, despite myself. 

I knelt down on the muddy dirt, the rain seeping its way through my thin skirt, and parted the bush for my rose. 

Tears were falling heavy down my face, as I looked at my only friend, its ink splattered petals, sagging slightly as strands of rain pelted against it. 

Squeezing my eyes shut, I ripped my head backwards, tore my eyes away, and ran, as fast as I could, through the pouring rain, tears and rain fusing together into one sad puddle. 

After a few minutes, I felt the fatigue begin to take over my body, my heart pounding, with the beats of a drum. 

Right then, a pang of guilt hit me, wrenching my heart in two. How could I leave my rose there to fend for herself? What will she do without me? Making up my mind, I sprinted back, the black carrier bag weighing me down, but as I reached my rose, every muscle ache, every rugged heartbeat disappeared, my rose was the only thing left. Taking out a glass jar from my bag, I raised it into the air, head tilted with cold, as rain slowly collected into the bottle. Setting the jar onto the ground, I gently, not wanting to hurt my rose, pried it’s stem away from the branch, the jealous thorns slashing its way into my skin, leaving hot blood oozing out of the cuts. 

Lifting the glass carefully with my rose elegantly placed inside, I walked at a steady pace, heading towards the end of a nightmare. 

Walking through the dead of night, I listened to every little detail of the Earth; I could feel the trembles in the ground, from the rain rushing through the underground drains, it’s a calming sound, little movements. The streetlight illuminated the shadows of the sidewalk, and the rustling sound of leaves. Turning a corner, I don’t know where I’m going, yet. It’s a complete nothing in my mind, I can’t think, it’s the atmosphere, its drier, cooler than usual; its only September, but leaves are swirling like feathers onto the broken pavement. I tried to avoid the cracks, but I got tired, and couldn’t help but place my foot onto the rotted concrete, letting go of the breath I’ve been holding on for so many years. “Lets go,” I whisper to my rose, letting my eyelids droop, with the brittle urban landscape escaping in and out of sight, then the darkness vanquished over me, and I sank to the ground, my bones aching.

The sun, it’s shining in my eyes, I tried to cover the light, but the gaps between my fingers let the rays leak onto my hollow face. I’m laying on the sunbaked ground, there is grass poking up through the cracks, and I let the ants crawl onto my skin, their light, tingling movements don’t bother me anymore. I forced myself to get back onto my feet, the rough surface of the sidewalk pierced through my cut skin, it bleeds, but I don’t let that stop me, I cannot let pain distract me, so I keep counting and adding. First the numbers of the leaves, scattered loosely aside, then the bricks of the deserted, broken down houses. The numbers come easily to me, rushing into my mind, like an overflowed tank, the equations come fast, it keeps me calm, it keeps me from breaking down. My light hair hangs down past my elbows; the tangled mess blows wildly in the autumn wind, my hollow stomach begged for food, but I don’t have any to offer, maybe tomorrow, I whisper, smiling, the small stretch in my face causing every single muscle to cringe. But I keep smiling. The torture helps me concentrate; it keeps me accurate and precise.

My rose is leaving me, its near lifeless petals drooping, as the color fades to a rusty red. 

“You can’t. You said you wouldn’t leave me.” I hollered at my rose, hoping to raise it back from the dead. My eyes were stinging, the tears flowing again, traveling down its daily path down my face. 

The occasional passers either sneer at me in disgust, their nose wrinkled, eyes set with distaste or, they politely glance away, head down, their saunter picking up into a brisk and uneasy pace. My head is facing the floor, but I hear the clicking of high-heels or the thump of sports shoes against the lopsided ground. I listen, and watch, vigilant, adding up the number of steps. I’m conscious of the change in pace, the different footsteps. I catch a glimpse of their costumes, brightly flowered, echoing the graffitied walls; while others, black leather, gold chains smashing and ten-inch high black boots thumping, it’s the same, day after day, different streets, but always the same sight.

The afternoon sky is golden; the pastel colors giving the air a sweet glaze over it. I come across a field, the laughing aura of children pulled at my heart, making it ache all over again. I looked away, wrapping my bare arms around my body, protecting myself from memories. As I kept on wandering, everything became darker; the honey-like tone to the surrounding faded, unveiling the harsh realities of life. 

The evening sky had turned into a dark shade of gray, with only a tinge of red lighting up the clouds. I feel hesitant, my withered rose tight in my fist, but that doesn’t stop me. I am free.