Rose Monologue

Rose’s lungs rattled with air as she inhaled, but she wasn’t breathing. Not really. Rose glanced around in a sense of painstaking awe. Breathing appeared so mundane for everyone else. Orange leaves rustled in the brisk autumn air while the sun strained to warm her icy face. As frozen grass crunched beneath her feet, her thoughts were brought back to reality. Rose’s eyes connected with those of her friends, and her soft lips curved into a broad smile. The success of her façade depended on her mask of superficial happiness. As expected, Rose was mercilessly questioned. The tar in her heart recoiled. She supressed her desire to scream at their ignorance.

Rose silently dared them to ask her how she was. Like any rose, those who knew her only cared about the soft exterior of her blood red petals. Not about the thin stem wrapped in thorns. Rose wanted help. She craved it. However, she didn’t want those she loved to be hurt by what she had planted inside herself. She settled beside an ancient oak tree, and waited for the methodical roll call to begin. The timeworn oak emitted a soft resonance that calmed Rose’s flurrying mind. A
Sun warmed her face, and her dull, brown eyes were cast in amber. The ice in her veins began to thaw. Approaching clouds dulled the brightness of the sun. Possibility saturated the air. Rose moved idly towards a cluster of trees. She adored the melody of the finches. A miserable grey painted a portrait against the soft golden light. To her right stood several senior boys. Finch Charming lazed among them. Finch was her ideal. Always laughing. He had it easy. A voice rang out, and summoned them. Rose and Finch glared apprehensively at one another. Rain clothed them. Rose welcomed the soft patter on her cheeks while Finch goggled at her. A laugh ran off her lips. She wanted to remember this. 87 spaces separated Rose from the date she had allowed herself. They sat with each other on the bus