Autumn Rose

Ahh, to be whole again...

 

            The creamy white roses shook in her hand. Her discomfort permeated the crisp fall air. She took a deep breath, took a tentative step away from the small red car, which sat behind her patiently, a conspicuous friend waiting to offer comfort.

            Her destination loomed ahead, eerily silent.  Gone were the familiar sounds of the city, the sound of millions of lives bumping into each other. It seemed that here, even the birds dared not disturb the silence with their song.

            The willows and oaks stood silent guard over those seeking their eternal rest. At any other time, she would have admired the flora, relished the vibrant colors of the leaves.  She would have delighted in the gentle breeze that ruffled her hair.  This had been their favorite time of year.

            Quickening her step, she approached, passing other markers along the way.  She signed, noting the flowers, candles and other personal mementos that adorned the other markers.  She flushed when she noted that his marker was bare.  The cool marble stood exposed, an accusing finger wagging at her.

            She stepped up and caressed the marker charily, her hand barely skimming the grey stone.  A tear escaped, tracing a path down her smooth cheek.  Seeing his name etched there struck her as not even the emptiness of his marker had.  His absence from her life had been a dull ache all of these years – ten long, lonely years without him.  As long as she had stayed away, she could pretend that he was still alive someplace – most likely in a distant country.

            She smiled, thinking of their travels.  They’d shared many adventures, traversing the world and exploring.  No one had delved into another culture as completely and as enthusiastically as he.  Now, he had taken one last journey without her – the biggest, most mysterious journey of all. She felt a pang of something she did not want to identify.

            She laid a single rose on top of the marker. Fitting. The single, perfect bloom contrasted against the cool marble. Life stood in stark contrast to death.  It was an incongruity that he was not there to enjoy and it struck her heart.

            She could not go on like this. She felt only half herself; her other half was buried beneath her feet. She would never be whole again; she knew this. What could she do? No matter what choice she made, she would be doomed to wander the earth for the rest of her days, seeking her other half.  Her other half was gone, though.

            She could not bear it any longer. He may have been long gone, but in her mind, he stood there beckoning her.  He was waiting for her. She had kept him waiting long enough.

            She reached into the small handbag that she carried with her. When her hand closed on the steel, she sighed. There was a pause- a silence in which even the leaves dared not rustle. The single shot echoed through the air and suddenly she was falling through all time and space to be with the man she loved. The roses slipped from her hands and formed a soft, white bed for her. Soon, she colored the roses a bright red. Seeped through the ground to touch him in the only way left to her. She was finally whole again.

Author's Note

In another of my stories, I came across a comment that called attention to the number of times I referenced the setting. I decided to challenge myself to write a story in which I never explicitly mentioned the setting.

Reviews

[Ahmad Alhour]

Great job. few are the times when I read something really strong and well formed to a level I cannot even dare to describe. And of course I liked the story of it's sadness and joy if we should say in dialectical way!
I like your use of words and metaphors.

And I would say it again, "that was a pleasure to read"

Best regards.

[Tawny]

That was a pleasure to read. I like it. Good job!