The Single Red Rose

The rain fell. Cold, hard drops of water hitting her back, her face, her hands. Like metal daggers. Falling hard, as though they had just one purpose. To kill. And incase that wasn't possible, to severely injure. To hurt.

She pulled her jacket closer around her. It was cold. She made her way up the hill, leaving the warmth of her car behind. Not once did it occur to her that she might want to come back some other day when it wasn't raining this hard. What must be done should be done. Right now.

Her thin cloth jacket. It occurred to her that she should have dressed for the rain as she pulled the hood of her jacket over her head as the rain grew stronger, louder. She put her hands into the pockets of her jacket. She felt her finger cut against a thorn. A thorn. All roses had thorns.

A strong gust of wind blew. Almost blew her off the hill. She kept walking. Lightning struck. Loud thunder. It didn't matter to her, these omens, signs telling her to stop, turn around. It's not worth braving the rain, what you are climbing this hill for. It’s worth it.

The wind. The strong, powerful wind. As though it wanted to prove its strength, a tree broke. The loud thunderous crack filled the air. Through the noise, she heard a silence. The silence of her mind. She wasn't thinking anymore, just doing what she had come to do.

She reached the broken tree. Tears came to her eyes. It was almost like fate. That it had to be this tree that broke. This was the tree where she had first met him. Where they became friends because his elder brother threw mud in her eyes and she cried. He had come to her defense, pushed his brother away and put his arm around her, consoled her. Since that day, they were inseparable. Until…

She saw faint carvings on the bark of the fallen tree and ran her fingers over them. Her tears wouldn't allow that small smile in her heart to be visible on her face. So she didn't smile, just let the tears keep falling. They'd carved their names into the wood. She climbed through the branches, broken by their fall to the ground, until she found it, that strip of his red t-shirt he had torn an tied on the branch the last time they had met by this tree. It was covered in mud, she held it up in the rain till, drop by drop, the rain washed away the dirt. Till all that was left was a faded red cloth. Faded memories of a summer long past. Faded laughs, faded lives.

She held the cloth to her heart, as though to engrave those fading memories in her mind. Memories of smiles and tears. And soft, hesitant kisses. You left before I could say goodbye.

She put the strip of cloth in an inner pocket of her coat; as if that cloth was the one thing that was dearest to her, as though it was her lifeline. As though it was the one thing that kept her sane.

Maybe she acted that way because that piece of cloth was all those things. Her lifeline, the one thing that kept her sane, the one thing that kept her alive.

She reached the top of the hill, her destination. Thick fog covered the hill like the emotions that covered every memory of him. Love, pain, regret.

She looked up at the building, the old church, but she didn't go in. it occurred to her that it might be warmer, there might be a kind face, but no. she didn't believe in God anymore. There couldn't be a God. If there were, this wouldn't have happened. Believing in God was for people who couldn't find enough support for their lives within themselves. She could barely support herself enough to keep walking but she was stubborn. She wouldn't step into another house of worship whether it was a church or a mosque or a temple or a… whatever.

She walked around the structure, took a shortcut through some trees. Then she saw what she came for.

How many times they had sat here through the night waiting for the ghouls to rise from their graves, she had never counted. She never would either, somehow, in the back of her mind she had this feeling that if she tried to forcefully bring back any memories they would be lost forever. Her usually rational mind could not explain the logic but she didn't challenge it. Some things are better left as is.

She climbed over the fence and scratched herself on some brambles. Her hands were covered in scratches and cuts. She didn’t care. Just let them bleed like she let her tears fall.

She kneeled in the muddy ground as the raindrops kept falling around her like little bomblets which wouldn't explode because they were wet. She laughed to herself. Her thoughts were morbid when she was in a graveyard. How appropriate.

She ran her fingers over the marble tombstone, over the indentations that made up his beautiful name. He will live in our memories forever.

She remembered how she couldn't shed even one tear at his… funeral. She was almost expecting to look up and see him leaning against their favourite tree, with that one lock of auburn hair falling over his forehead. She wanted to look up and see him standing there, running his hand through his hair. And when she looked up, he would tilt his head to the side, call her to him with that impertinent grin, almost saying, 'Ditch them, come here now!'

Then again now the tears wouldn't stop. She took out the one red rose she had brought with her and held it to her face. She rubbed the soft petals against her cheek and inhaled it's delicate, sweet fragrance. The soft touch and the scent brought back memories of him. The way his fingers felt on her cheeks, the way his body felt against hers, the way she loved the hint of his shampoo that she smelled whenever he held her close…

It was still raining. She thought it might have been not quite as hard as earlier. The drops still felt like cold missiles, hitting her back, her hands, her face. The dagger through her heart.

She laughed at her dramatics. She used to love the way he laughed at her exaggerated drama.

She laid the rose on the cool stone surface. She put her hands into her pockets. Her hand found the red strip of cloth. She took it out and placed it on the stone. She stood up and looked at the red cloth, progressively becoming darker because of the falling raindrops. The cloth, she couldn't leave it behind. Not just yet. She picked it up and for the last time, put her hand on the tombstone.

She turned around and followed her footprints back down the hill. With her hand on the door handle of her car, she turned around and looked at the hill once more. She didn't know when would be the next time she came here. She knew just one thing. It was time to let go. Goodbye.