The Rose
An innocent white rose, still a bud, but almost a bloom
Its stem is too new and crisp to have yet sprouted thorns
Smooth and clean
It is still new to the wide open world, and so it looks
Up at the surrounding flora, grasping for the inspiration of what it will become
Rain softly drizzles on its youthful petals, angel’s tears
The drops stay for but a moment on the tips of its white flesh
Exposing it to the coldness and bitterness of the world
Through the harshness, it remains sinless
The rain pauses, and the dim light of the cloudy day returns
The master comes out and inspects his grove
He looks at each and every one, but none pleases him
Not even the full blooms
“None of you are fit to satisfy me. Grow a bit more,
And I shall decide if you are worthy.”
Later in the day, a servant of the master checks on the flowers
She sees a rare flower of her liking, and she picks it
From the ground, inhaling its musty fragrance
The master had kept a close eye on the girl
He loved the garden more than anything and would punish
Anyone who harmed his rare treasures
The master anticipated the servant would be back to pick
Another of his prized possessions, and he was right
The full moon gleamed with the intensity of a heartbeat
Through the still and sable night
The girl returned to the alluring flower bed, which glowed
With an enchantment in the moonlight
With pure innocence, she reached down and picked another
Exquisite flower from the soil
Again, she paused to sniff its perfume
As her back was turned, the master appeared behind her
Concealed in shadow
His eyes were menacing and feral, not those of any sane man
He came quietly and slowly, step by step, like an eerie specter
The girl’s impending doom fell upon her when she turned around
And the chilling blade slashed through her torso
Upon her impact with the ground, the flower she held fell
From her hands onto the earth, which now welcomed her warm blood
The master retrieved the stolen flower, but finding it
Battered and innocent, threw it aside
The girl’s blood had seeped into the soil and found its way
To the roots of the white rose
Its roots took in the blood, licked it up like a thirsty beast
Within moments, the flower transformed
The color bled into the petals, tainting the white to a deep crimson
Black piercing thorns protruded from the stem
Dripping with an ebony poison
And penetrated the flesh of the encircling greenery
The rain came down heavily now, and the petals seemed to be
Trickling with the very blood that was contained within
The rose fully blossomed under the brilliant flash of lightning
And the blaring roar of thunder, looking down upon the neighbors
It had once seen as allies
No longer would this be an innocent white rose, but a tainted rose of murder
The master came over to the garden and gazed at his handiwork
His vicious eyes fell upon the newly blossomed rose
He walked up to it and caressed the delicate petals
“You are the crown jewel of all the blooms, the only flower
That represents my personality, the only one with whom I
Can relate. I choose you to admire above all others.”
The master gently removed the corrupted rose and walked off
Into the endless night, leaving everything else to die