George,
I got the black rose today. A single rose in a vase on my doorstep. My days are numbered. When you’re going to die soon, they give you a black rose- The rose of death. I’ve known many people go crazy, trying to keep this rose alive because when the rose dies, you die. You never really know how many days it will last. You only know the month and year they told you before. I’ve put it in a glass of water, praying I can keep it alive for a few days longer than it should but deep down I know there’s no point. I’m not even sure how they’ll kill me...maybe that’s what I fear most of all.
Clara.
YOU ARE READING
Letters #Wattys2014
Teen FictionTwo teenagers from two different walks of life write to each other. These are the letters they wrote.
