The Roses

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These used to represent love. Or so, that's what the history books tell us. "When one would confess their love for another, they'd present their hopeful half with a rose. Typically a red rose as they were the truest mark of love. Botanists worked hard to breed new kinds of roses in a wide range of colors, even ones that would sustain a much longer life." How could something so beautiful become what it is in this day?

Father sat at his desk, his face stone cold. The only indication of anger be the flickering flames of pure rage flaring up within him. Everyone in the room was silent. It was a wonder how the package sitting before him even managed to make it here. Each and every thing from a flimsy postcard to a box towering over me was thoroughly examined. So how this happened was beyond any of us.

The black lid of the box laid adjacent to it, the ribbon that was once neatly tied around it lie forgotten on the ground. Tucked away inside was a freshly cut bouquet of scarlet roses. The lovely, but nearly unknown fresh scent, of roses lingered around us. None of us could move our eyes away. For this was a warning. A target placed on all our heads.

Mostly anyone in this room had never seen an actual rose with their own eyes. Once the revolution struck up and the opposing party took it upon themselves to becomes The Roses, they became a tainted affair. Millions of gardens were burned down. The growing of roses, or any flower for that matter, had officially become illegal. Only designated government fields were allowed to grow certain breeds of flowers to keep the natural order of nature in line. Any normal citizen found growing the plants would be immediately be considered a sympathizer and placed into interrogation. Not many made it out of those interrogations at all.

I remember father telling me of roses as a child. Of how they'd lure you in with their beauty, but would prick you once you got to close. He would say that's what The Roses were to us. They had grandeur lies of a 'better life'. One free of pain. A world of peace and harmony. But oppose them and they'd make you bleed.

The only sort of flowers we had seen were either in photos, paintings or propaganda films aired by The Roses. Though a time like this was truly a once in a lifetime experience for most. I knew it was wrong of me to have such thoughts considering the circumstances, but they were truly beautiful. Each petal blossomed out, kissing the air around it with its' soothing aroma. The curves of the outlying petals reminded me of ballerinas arching backs with such poise and grace. How... How could these be seen as a bad thing?

"Burn them."

It had been the first thing said in these last few moments of sheer silence and unease. My father's bodyguard picked up the box from the table. He picked it up so nonchalantly and without second thought. My younger brother looked like he'd burst at the mere sight. He had grown a deep fear of roses. Maybe he thought the box would explode in the man's face. What an irrational thought to have. Though, many did these days.

I turned and watched the bodyguard proceed to the fire place. My heart stopped. Was there nothing I could do to stop this? It seemed such a small, trivial thing to burn them. It was a waste of beauty though. A waste of life. I knew if I said anything, I'd be truly damned by my whole family. So, I did what any right minded person would in this situation. I stayed quiet. I let the man burn the beauty. I watched as the flames consumed it, leaving nothing but a black ash in memory of what had once been there.

"Leave my office, now. I need to make a few calls."

My brother and I looked at one another. I could see he didn't feel the same as me. Only fear of what would happen to us was laced in the small boys' eyes. We both stood, exiting without a word and parting our separate ways. I knew that nothing good was to follow. Father would burn this whole country down until he found who sent us those roses... We all knew that it was The Roses themselves who sent it. A warning to stop whatever it was he was doing. I never infringed myself in my father's' political business. It was always messy and depressing. Nonetheless, I wasn't naive. I knew there were things that were ultimately wrong in all of this. Dare I speak out, lest I want my head to be next.