My Rose

She was on one of her afternoon strolls, taking in the sun, salty sea air and the sky. Her beautiful yellow dress flapped around her in the light breeze as she walked amongst the casuarinas, when she spotted something strange. It was so small she would have missed it if it wasn’t right in front of her, but on one of the lowest branches of the tree there was a hint of something pink. When she looked closer she realised that it was a rosebud, still very small, but there nonetheless. Vered knew that roses didn’t grow on trees, especially not casuarinas, so she was very intrigued. She took out her phone to take a picture, but when Vered looked at the photo the rosebud wasn’t there. She took a few more photos to the same result, her curiosity growing by the second. Even though she was sure it wasn’t, she reached out with gentle fingers to touch the bud and check that it wasn’t just an illusion. Hurrying, Vered ran home and returned soon after with her sketchbook and pencils. Getting comfortable she leaned against the trunk of a tree and began to draw. She sat there quietly humming to herself as she sketched, deep in thought. By the time Vered had finished her drawing the sun was setting, and she reluctantly made her way back home. Promising she would return soon.

The next afternoon she went back to the tree and found the rose still growing, so once again she settled down and did another sketch. She continued doing this day after day as the rose grew and became even more beautiful. Carefully recording each detail in her drawings. It became all she thought about, but she kept it a secret.

One day, when Vered came to sketch the rose it had finally blossomed. It was so incredibly stunning, yet it made her so sad. As she finished her final sketch, Vered cupped the stunning pink rose delicately in her hands, a single tear sliding down her cheek, and inhaled the sweet smell of its perfume for the last time.

Later, when they found her body beside the casuarina, there lay a sketchbook beside it. Inside were dozens of intricate drawings of a rose in a tree, from bud to bloom, along with a note. This is what it read:

My Rose,

Beautiful petals,

Soft and delicate,

One hundred shades of pink.

Lovely perfume,

Sweet and light,

But heavy enough to drink.

But Rose,

My Rose,

Why are you growing on this tree?

You are an incredible wonder of nature,

But you will be the death of me.

As you grew on that tree,

You grew inside me,

Both are places you aren’t meant to be.

You drained my strength,

As you grew,

But there was nothing that I could do.

Because you had already taken root.

Dear P

I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t want you to worry. It was inevitable, this flower couldn’t be uprooted, and if I had tried I would have only been cut by a thorn. At first I was confused, but I grew to understand and accept it. I don’t mind so much now. It would have happened eventually, although I would have preferred to have gotten more time to spend with you. I drew these pictures for you. These pictures that mean so many things. Don’t be scared. Don’t be sad. Plant a rose bush, and remember me with a smile.

 I will always love you.

-V

Louie Elliott 

Purpose

The water swirled around my waist as I waited. The water shimmering with starlight on that moonless night. I slipped down into the water and rose back up to float on my back. Gazing at twinkling sky, the water covering my ears muffling any possible sounds. Lying there, my face bathed in starlight, I waited. I waited, and waited, and wondered what I was waiting for. The sun didn’t rise, so I decided to search for it as I waited. Wading through the water I searched for the sun. Sorting through the stars and checking in every little crevice in the universe until I found it, cowering on the very edge of existence. Speaking calming words to it, I gently lifted the sun and held it close to me, then returned it to it’s station bringing light back to the world and purpose to its existence. Maybe that’s what I was waiting for, a purpose. As I continued to wait I thought about the purpose of all other things in existence, and why other things that didn’t exists didn’t exist and the purpose they would have if they had existed. I thought about the purpose of anything existing and how if nothing had ever existed it wouldn’t matter. I thought about purpose until I had thought about everything that there is to think about it, as well as everything there isn’t to think about and everything in between, above, below, inside out and upside down. I thought until I thought I could think no longer then I thought some more about thinking. And still I waited for my purpose. I thought and waited and thought about waiting as stars were born and died. As I watched the universe age and evolve I contemplated everything that should be different, everything that was wrong and right and how the universe could be improved. There I waited, until the end of time, until there was nothing left except me, my thoughts and potential. I took all that potential and created a new universe, one full of purpose. I used everything I had thought about over the lifetime of everything and nothing to create this new universe, and when everything else had been created, I recreated myself, to observe and contemplate this universe, to find its flaws and improve it the next time. That was my purpose, but I wouldn’t let myself know that.

Louie Elliott

don't say it unless you mean it ('cuz i don't wanna hear it)

punch drunk kisses
under mistletoe
I'm missin' the older days

stars are missin'
and the moon is gone
so let's dance the night away

sat by the sea
just you and me
watching the boats float by

but now the shores are gone
and when you come home
you can't look me in the eyes

don't come back to me
don't say pretty please

and when you're with him on your knees
you'll think of me

so, honey,
go jump off a cliff
'cuz our bridge is burning bright

you painted it with gasoline
and let it all come to light

I call you "baby", the neighbours call you "whore"
fingerprints of the life we had before

don't say you love me more


- Aria