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