• The Single White Rose


    The wind was blowing slow across the field of crimson roses, they were all bloomed and their colors were seen from afar even in the darkest night , despite the fact that the roses were healthy, all the other plant life was dead, the grass was an ill brown-yellow color and the trees were all suffering from the loss of their leafing and shivering in the cold wind.
    In the see of red roses, the color of blood, a single white rose shone as a star on the black night’s cloak, the white one was completely alone in the field, the only white rose left in it.
    Suddenly a drop was heard in the cloudless night. A shadow was seen standing high and proud in the ocean of crimson flowers of love, her long coal hair being taken and brushed by the playful wind while her red clothing also danced with the breeze.
    The figure throw a head casually away and it landed with a tug on the cold ground, limply and numb, with it’s eyes still open looking blank into the distance. The figure allowed her fingers to run trough her hair and started walking and there was not much time before she was engulfed in the shadows again and unseen in the field.
    While she had held the head of her victim in her hand it’s blood came down one tear at a time and fell on the pure white rose making it as the others in the field the crimson warm color of cold blood, never to be washed away, newer to be white or pure ever again…