z

Young Writers Society



My Dream of a Rose

by demib


The wind blows gracefully, dancing around treetops and flowers like the bride and groom at a wedding. A half closed rose, spins and twirls, like a ballerina readying for a show. The gentle breeze is her helping hand. The hand that guides her steps, the hand that catches her when she falls or stumbles. The dance of the flower and wind goes on for hours, until the dance is broken. The wind leaves its partner, the rose, like a soldier leavings his dear family to save his country, his home. The rose was left alone, until a new partner comes by. But it was not the wind that guided her steps and catched her when she fell. It was a pale, elegant hand. A hand with slender, graceful, fingers. The fingers gently grasped her stem. A new hand identical to the other hand came into the rose’s world, carrying the clippers that would end her life. And that did. The clippers cut through her stem. The elegant, fingers carrying her away, was the last thing the rose saw. The wind, now able to come back to his partner, saw that she had died. She was gone. The winds now moaned and sadly moved through the trees, grass, and flowers. The heart breaking wind of the fall. The tear jerking ending of the rose. Until the bright spring came back once more to the dreadful place, would he ever be happy again. For in the old roses place would be a new one. Then the story repeats it’s self once more. Every year. The never ending story of the rose.


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15 Reviews


Points: 874
Reviews: 15

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Mon Mar 26, 2012 5:03 pm
Gingerhead says...



Fantastic dude.
Very sad, but that's what writing is about.
Taking it out of your time to slightly depress people :)
I loved it, I love how your mind works.





To answer before listening—that is folly and shame.
— Proverbs 18:13