The Rose
By Francesca Angelique Carrillo

She opened her eyes to look up at the sky. She was in a garden. Paradise, Eden. The sky, the perfect tint of blue, the blazing yellow sun above her head: it was not a steamy, sweating kind of heat either, but the kind of afternoon sky that accompanied a soft, gentle breeze that blew across her face.

She inhaled the fresh air, feeling so free of the black pollution that was slowly strangling the life of mother earth and her sunlight - the bright sunlight, its rays bringing so much undying hope.

She sat up. Everywhere she looked there was greenery; there was so much life, so much happiness, so much glee to shroud oneself in dreams and comforting illusions. There was no hint of the rotting carcass of dying plants that reeked of death, of nightmares, of pained, bleeding hearts.

And there right in the middle of other luscious, blooming flowers, was a rose. She remembered one of Shakespeare’s writings that the rose was the most beautiful flower of all. The rose stood there, elegant; its simple beauty making the other flowers appear irrelevant and out of place.

I wish there was someone I could share this beauty with, she murmured.

Like everyday of her miserable life, she would cover herself in dreams, in the comfort of mere illusions. Strike those dreams down and she would simply build another wall.

Dimly she could hear someone calling her name.

"Rachel." The voice was deep and strangely familiar.

Why choose this moment to interrupt one of her favorite fantasies? She opened her eyes and frowned at this newcomer, this stranger who had dared interrupt her dreams. She almost choked on her breath. Here he was, her charming prince, the gorgeous Greek god who dared come to her, to her, not one of those perfect, beautiful people, whose hearts were filled with plastic.

He offered his hand.

Looking at his smiling, pale blue eyes, she searched for distrust, for that smirk of utter cruel enjoyment that meant he’d soon be breaking her heart. Hesitantly, she held out her hand. He lifted her very gently on her feet, and smiled, that perfect gorgeous smile with that cute dimple - the smile that would make a thousand girls’ hearts break.

He took something from behind, blushing. What? The Greek god, blushing? At her? Impossible, she thought, then focused on his surprise.

It was the rose, the brilliant rose in its perfect shade of red. She smiled back, instantly wiping away her earlier worries. He inched closer and closer. Her heart was beating a thousand beats a second. His hand touched her cheek. She closed her eyes and their lips met. Her skin was hot, almost feverish with pleasure. It was a soft, gentle kiss of love and not the kiss of sinful lust.

He kissed her again and again, and she kissed back. She could burn in his love, in this pleasure. Somewhere, music played and they danced, danced forever in the company of sunlight and fresh air.

Then there was the darkness behind her closed eyelids. She opened them to find only more darkness staring back at her. Gone was Eden, gone was him, and gone was paradise.

She couldn’t help herself as tears flowed down her cheeks like a river, its waters forever coursing to the endless sea of the lost.

'How could it be only a dream?' She wondered. It was so vivid, so clear. She had felt the sky, nature, and his burning love - their burning love -they were made for each other.

But like dreams, fantasies, and illusions, the more you feel,the more you know it was never meant to be: they fade, and you make up new ones.

Perhaps she was so good at pretending that it almost felt real. Happiness, joy, love…these things weren’t meant for her. All that was left was darkness, her broken, crying soul, loneliness and desolation, and maybe…maybe death.

She fumbled in the dark for a lighter. She flicked the light and opened her chest of drawers.

She searched for the gun - the gun that used to belong to Drew, sweet Drew, the only soul who dared to see the soul beneath the faceless mask. But, he was gone, and soon she would be, too. No one would remember: she was just one of the millions of faceless people walking down the street.

She put the barrel to her head, her hand secured on the trigger.

Something caught her eye.

Suddenly the gun dropped, and all thoughts of taking her own life.

There, lying on the shelf like a small light to the engulfing darkness, was a perfect little red rose.

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