Belicia - The ship of magic

White Roses

I went down the stairs, it was still dark outside, but the late summer sun was beginning to rise. I made some tea and took a slice of bread, and then arranged it on a trey like I usually do when I have to go early. I carried it to the room that was located beside the kitchen. Mom was laying in the baby blue coloured bed with the lion feet. She looked more pale and gaunt then usually. Her face was filled with wrinkles, like crevices in a stone cold cliff. It made her look older than her actual age. Even in her sleep she looked like she was in much pain. How is it that bad things happens to good people. I put the trey on the little nightstand that matched the bed in colour. When I kissed my mom's naked head, I felt how cold and yet sweaty it was.

It was a bit chilly in the mornings, even in late August. So when I was heading towards the forest, I had put on a jacket and as always my moss green boots. I always wear boots, it doesn't matter if it's a hot summer day or a late night in December. I don't know why I insist on keeping them on, I just do, it's kind of my style. I didn't have to walk for that long, seeing that me and my mother didn't live far from the forest. I looked down on the white rose I bore in my hand. I was being careful not to sting myself on its thorns. My hand was completely covered in small doodles, I would normally draw all over my notebook when I was bored in class, but I had ran out of paper to draw on, so my hand had to suffer the consequences. The drawings had fainted  since yesterday.

I could see her from where I was standing. She stood by the entry to the forest as always on this specific day of the year. As I came closer I saw a white rose in her hand identical to mine. She was looking around, probably wondering what was taking me so long. Then she saw me, she didn't wave or call for me, those times were over. We didn't really speak to each other anymore, unless it was necessary, or that one day a year, this day to be exact.

"you're late" That was the first thing my childhood bestfriend Cathy said to me. Her tone was cold.

"I'm sorry Cathrine, I had to make my mother breakfast." I didn't call her Cathy anymore, not after that night 8 years ago. She as well didn't call me Em like when we were kids, that nickname died 8 years ago together with our friendship.

"How is your mother anyway." Her voice became soft, she knew my mother was sick.

"The doctors can't help her, so she doesn't have long." My voice broke a little.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She said it with sincerity.

We began to walk just a little closer to the first and biggest tree. Cathrine laid down her rose by the foot of the tree, she didn't say anything till she stood back up. "He would have been 20 today. Imagine if we hadn't gone in to the forest this day 8 years ago, then we wouldn't be here mourning Michael's death."

"We don't know if he's dead." I surprised myself with that comment. It is true though, nobody ever found a body, only traces of blood. 

"Emily he died! He was killed by a wild animal, don't you remember the roar? You said you saw it yourself, you said you saw a wolf. There was traces of blood, Michael's blood Emily! Why can't you understand that?" Her eyes had started watering.

I didn't say anything, she didn't see what I saw. Even if I told her she wouldn't believe me, hell I wasn't even sure on what I saw. I just have a feeling that he is still alive, he had to be. My silence made her more frustrated.

"Don't you think that I blame myself for abandoning you that night? I do! I think about every day- what if I had stayed? Maybe if I hadn't ran away we could have scared of the wolf, then Michael wouldn't be dead and maybe we would've still been friends." Her tears streamed down her face and her bottom lip had begun twitching.

I didn't know what to say, I didn't mean for her to cry. I never know how to deal with situations like this, I have never been good social. It didn't matter anyway, Cathrine had already left, she was walking away. I had to leave as well, but not before I had lain down my rose to Michael. I sent him a thought, and prayed to that he was still alive.