about a rose
Feb 25, 2021 19:28:28 GMT -5
Post by themirrorthief on Feb 25, 2021 19:28:28 GMT -5
I shall never forget that first time. I had just stepped onto the most
lovely and pristine beach imaginable. The water lapped gently
against the shore and the nearby trees swayed and floated...offering
the comfort of deep shade. The shade was hardly needed due to the
cool breeze that massaged my neck and arms like a lover. Looking
out to I saw calm waters sparkling beneath the brilliant sunlight
like fresh cut diamonds. It was all very breathtaking despite just
the tiniest hint of the surreal.
Then I saw her. She moved slowly along the shoreline. Her long
white gown billowed and danced in the wind. Her hair was very long,
dark, and blessed with an abundance of waves and curls. I knew
that she was beautiful even before I'd glimpsed her face. At last
she paused and turned in my direction. Her eyes were more blue
than an icy mountain top and her skin was as pale as it was
perfect and smooth. Her full red lips were finely sculpted and her
manner both shy and vaugely curious.
She turned back to continue on her way and I hastened my step in
order to catch up with the lovely vision so that I might...tell her
something? How strange it all seemed; strange but terribly exciting
and intoxicating. I tapped her gently upon a slender shoulder and
she slowly turned. The gentle smile she bestowed upon me was
captivating to be sure. Then she put her hand out to me, pawn up.
I reached for her but then...
I woke to the sound of crashing glass and rattling windows. The
intense feeling of movement startled me to instant alertness...what
the...? Earthquake! We had experienced small ones before but
nothing remotely like this. I jerked the mattress off my bed and
darted beneath it. I lay there praying as the shaking and swaying
continued for several minutes. I faced he jarring reality that the
entire building might well collapse upon me at any moment. Then,
everything grew still again. For several minutes I sat there dazed
but thankful to be alive. My apartment building was fairly new and it
had weathered the disaster.
I discovered the phones still worked for mine began to ring. It was my
boss at the newspaper. "Are you still alive...good, good! That was
a damned big one wasn't it. Word is, the worst of it hit the old part of
the city. Don't you live near there? Try to get down there somehow
and send back a report ASAP. Now get going and good luck!"
I was grateful for the call, it brought me back to reality. The reporter
instinct in me quickly took over and I dashed about getting dressed
and finding something for taking notes. I reasoned that my bike
would likely carry me closer to the most heavily damaged areas;
spots where automobile traffic would be impossible or disallowed.
Moments later I pedaled away with my heart beating wildly within
my chest.
Everywhere I looked there was devastation. Sirens screamed from
every direction, policemen shouted instructions, ambulances roared
past, and people with faces caked by blood and dirt wandered about
aimlessly. Stately old mansions, many more than a century old, had
been leveled. For some reason I was drawn to the old Parrish house.
Half of it had collapsed. The parts that remained seemed so stoic
but sad. I decided to take a closer look.
Picking my way carefully through the rubble and fallen timbers I
managed to navigate around to the back of the house. At about that
point I spotted something truly startling. There was a very old family
graveyard behind the house. It appeared that one casket had been
upturned by the violence of the quake. A heavy metal box lay almost
entirely above ground, its lid dislodged. With dread I realized that
the grave and its contents had been tragically opened. Perhaps it
was my duty as a reporter, morbid curiosity, or possibly even some
strange unexplained force that drew me closer to the grave. Despite
trembling nervously, I was determined to make a closer inspection.
The stone gave a name and a date, the tomb was over sixty years
old. I knelt gingerly to take a quick peek inside, fully expecting some
ragged old skeleton to glare back at me accusingly as if the entire
thing had been my fault. Imagine my utter shock and amazement
when I saw the perfectly preserved corpse of a young woman lying
there as if in a deep slumber. If appearances were the judge, the
woman might well have been enterred only yesterday! She wore a
long white gown and her hands were crossed peacefully over her
stomach. A beautiful red rose lay on her chest.
A fit of insanity must have gripped me at that moment for I felt a
ghastly compulsion. I put my hand inside the coffin and grasped the
rose. Like all else in the grave, it was in pristine condition. It even
smelled fresh and sweet. Stunned, I paused to briefly study the face
of the young woman. Cold chills poured down my spine like I'd
walked beneath a waterfall and I broke into a heavy sweat. The
long deceased object I observed there was that same woman that
I'd dreamed about only that very morning! My nerves failed me
completely at that point.
I half staggerd, half ran until I found my bicycle. Then I struggled to
make my way straight home. My legs were so shaky that I could
barely pedal but eventually I arrived home safely. I forgot all about
any report to the paper. Instead I stayed put for several days, mostly
shivering beneath several blankets, curled into the fetal position on
my couch. I would have been fired save for calling in some lame
excuse about twisting my back while moving debris from my patio.
Some other reporter wrote a piece about the strangely preserved
corpse and even threw in a few snippets about the history of the
old Parrish place that had to be demolished. Human interest stuff you
see. I didn't care.
I soon recovered my senses but thereafter, at least once a week or
so, I would experience the strange dream I'd had the morning of
the disaster. It was always the same, the beach, the woman, and
the outstretched pawn at the end. I kept the rose. It never wilted and
I never told a soul about it or the dream. They wouldn't understand,
and how can one explain the unexplainable? I knew all to well what
had happened and I didn't need some expensive shrink to convince
me that it hadn't.
All of that was many decades ago. Now I am very old and withered.
Just this morning I heard the doctor whisper to my family that the
end was very near indeed. I don't mind, in fact I rather look forward
to the event. I clutch the rose to my chest and shut my eyes. At
some point during this very night I will place the flower in the
outstretched pawn of my beautiful dream girl.
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lovely and pristine beach imaginable. The water lapped gently
against the shore and the nearby trees swayed and floated...offering
the comfort of deep shade. The shade was hardly needed due to the
cool breeze that massaged my neck and arms like a lover. Looking
out to I saw calm waters sparkling beneath the brilliant sunlight
like fresh cut diamonds. It was all very breathtaking despite just
the tiniest hint of the surreal.
Then I saw her. She moved slowly along the shoreline. Her long
white gown billowed and danced in the wind. Her hair was very long,
dark, and blessed with an abundance of waves and curls. I knew
that she was beautiful even before I'd glimpsed her face. At last
she paused and turned in my direction. Her eyes were more blue
than an icy mountain top and her skin was as pale as it was
perfect and smooth. Her full red lips were finely sculpted and her
manner both shy and vaugely curious.
She turned back to continue on her way and I hastened my step in
order to catch up with the lovely vision so that I might...tell her
something? How strange it all seemed; strange but terribly exciting
and intoxicating. I tapped her gently upon a slender shoulder and
she slowly turned. The gentle smile she bestowed upon me was
captivating to be sure. Then she put her hand out to me, pawn up.
I reached for her but then...
I woke to the sound of crashing glass and rattling windows. The
intense feeling of movement startled me to instant alertness...what
the...? Earthquake! We had experienced small ones before but
nothing remotely like this. I jerked the mattress off my bed and
darted beneath it. I lay there praying as the shaking and swaying
continued for several minutes. I faced he jarring reality that the
entire building might well collapse upon me at any moment. Then,
everything grew still again. For several minutes I sat there dazed
but thankful to be alive. My apartment building was fairly new and it
had weathered the disaster.
I discovered the phones still worked for mine began to ring. It was my
boss at the newspaper. "Are you still alive...good, good! That was
a damned big one wasn't it. Word is, the worst of it hit the old part of
the city. Don't you live near there? Try to get down there somehow
and send back a report ASAP. Now get going and good luck!"
I was grateful for the call, it brought me back to reality. The reporter
instinct in me quickly took over and I dashed about getting dressed
and finding something for taking notes. I reasoned that my bike
would likely carry me closer to the most heavily damaged areas;
spots where automobile traffic would be impossible or disallowed.
Moments later I pedaled away with my heart beating wildly within
my chest.
Everywhere I looked there was devastation. Sirens screamed from
every direction, policemen shouted instructions, ambulances roared
past, and people with faces caked by blood and dirt wandered about
aimlessly. Stately old mansions, many more than a century old, had
been leveled. For some reason I was drawn to the old Parrish house.
Half of it had collapsed. The parts that remained seemed so stoic
but sad. I decided to take a closer look.
Picking my way carefully through the rubble and fallen timbers I
managed to navigate around to the back of the house. At about that
point I spotted something truly startling. There was a very old family
graveyard behind the house. It appeared that one casket had been
upturned by the violence of the quake. A heavy metal box lay almost
entirely above ground, its lid dislodged. With dread I realized that
the grave and its contents had been tragically opened. Perhaps it
was my duty as a reporter, morbid curiosity, or possibly even some
strange unexplained force that drew me closer to the grave. Despite
trembling nervously, I was determined to make a closer inspection.
The stone gave a name and a date, the tomb was over sixty years
old. I knelt gingerly to take a quick peek inside, fully expecting some
ragged old skeleton to glare back at me accusingly as if the entire
thing had been my fault. Imagine my utter shock and amazement
when I saw the perfectly preserved corpse of a young woman lying
there as if in a deep slumber. If appearances were the judge, the
woman might well have been enterred only yesterday! She wore a
long white gown and her hands were crossed peacefully over her
stomach. A beautiful red rose lay on her chest.
A fit of insanity must have gripped me at that moment for I felt a
ghastly compulsion. I put my hand inside the coffin and grasped the
rose. Like all else in the grave, it was in pristine condition. It even
smelled fresh and sweet. Stunned, I paused to briefly study the face
of the young woman. Cold chills poured down my spine like I'd
walked beneath a waterfall and I broke into a heavy sweat. The
long deceased object I observed there was that same woman that
I'd dreamed about only that very morning! My nerves failed me
completely at that point.
I half staggerd, half ran until I found my bicycle. Then I struggled to
make my way straight home. My legs were so shaky that I could
barely pedal but eventually I arrived home safely. I forgot all about
any report to the paper. Instead I stayed put for several days, mostly
shivering beneath several blankets, curled into the fetal position on
my couch. I would have been fired save for calling in some lame
excuse about twisting my back while moving debris from my patio.
Some other reporter wrote a piece about the strangely preserved
corpse and even threw in a few snippets about the history of the
old Parrish place that had to be demolished. Human interest stuff you
see. I didn't care.
I soon recovered my senses but thereafter, at least once a week or
so, I would experience the strange dream I'd had the morning of
the disaster. It was always the same, the beach, the woman, and
the outstretched pawn at the end. I kept the rose. It never wilted and
I never told a soul about it or the dream. They wouldn't understand,
and how can one explain the unexplainable? I knew all to well what
had happened and I didn't need some expensive shrink to convince
me that it hadn't.
All of that was many decades ago. Now I am very old and withered.
Just this morning I heard the doctor whisper to my family that the
end was very near indeed. I don't mind, in fact I rather look forward
to the event. I clutch the rose to my chest and shut my eyes. At
some point during this very night I will place the flower in the
outstretched pawn of my beautiful dream girl.
<<
<
4
5
6
>
>>