"Rosie. Rose." He stared across the table, his hazel eyes pleading. He tilted his head to the side, trying to catch her eye.
"Look at me. Look at me, Rosie. Please." His voice cracked. He reached out a gentle, calloused palm, cupping the woman's face. Her bright blue gaze flicked to his face. The man leaned forward in his seat suddenly, inhaling sharply.
"Rosie...Rose, it's me. It's me, Rosie." A tear fell from his eye and rolled down his cheek as his hand flew across the heavy oaken table to her's. Her mouth dropped open in a toothless gape and she turned away, drawing her hands against her chest. She whimpered, her body shaking.
The man sat back in his chair with a dull thud, lowering his eyes to stare blankly at the table. His lip quivered.
A tall, freckly orderly stepped out from the corner where he'd been lurking. He crossed the room, placing a hand on the man's forearm.
"Sir..." the orderly trailed off, looking pointedly at the door. The man jerked his arm out of the orderly's grasp, walking back to the table. He placed his finger under her chin, lifting her face to his.
She let out a sharp yelp, flailing her arms wildly about her head. The man stumbled backwards as her fingernails caught his face. He cursed, touching the angry puckered welts gingerly. The orderly stepped forward once again, gently tugging the man backwards.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Richardson. She doesn't recognize you. Now please, you're upsetting her." he said firmly, closing his hand on the man's wrist.
He stood, rooted to the spot, still staring at the woman. Her once-lustrous auburn hair was now flyaway and streaked through with grey, and her face...
Her face was perfect, beautiful. They were young, and the world was at their feet. They were immortal. They stood, staring into the fading sunlight, fingers intertwined. He turned, stroking her face, caressing her lips with the edge of his thumb. Their eyes met--his hazel and her vivid, riveting blue.
The woman looked up. Her face was old and lined with wrinkles, and her skin was dotted over with age spots. Her eyes were the only thing that remained unchanged--wide, blue, and staring straight into his. He stared back.
For a fleeting moment, they connected, and his heart fluttered in his chest. He knew she knew him, he could see it. Her face broke into a joyful smile, her eyes were sparkling--and it faded. Her eyes dulled and her smile had become nothing more than a confused grimace. His heart dropped like a stone and sank into his stomach. His eyes streamed.
"No, Rose, no!" he cried. The orderly grabbed his shoulders, pushing him roughly towards the door. The man struggled, trying to turn towards his wife, to see her to call out her name, but the orderly's strength was uncompromising. The orderly kicked open the door and, grabbing the man around the middle, forced him out of the room, panting a final "I'm sorry." It was finally silent, the room empty except for the woman.
She sat quietly, looking around the room, mouth hanging open. She examined her surroundings, the yellowing wallpaper and cracked ceiling tiles, almost as a normal person would. Her gaze stopped at the windowsill. On it was perched a tiny glass vase, which held a single withered rose.
