• WHITE ROSE

    ONE

    The day Sean Parks disappeared, was the day a new man was born.
    And the day that that man arrived, was the day he died.
    The weather was showing its darker side; thunder bellowed overhead; lighting split the black expanse of cloud; wind roared through the trees as if racing to the scene - to watch. Rain pelted down to earth in silver waves, which broke against a dark figure, standing motionless, in an abandoned graveyard. He looked up as he was joined by another figure, and for a moment his face was lit by the lightning racing to earth. A long, pale scar - right down his face, his cheeks were fleshless, his irises a blue so pale it was white, his mouth, just a slanting slash below his crooked nose. His voice could hardly be heard above the weathers’ tongue. But the screeching sound that did escape him formed into two words; “Find him”. The second figure nodded, and limped away into the darkness. The first stayed still for a long time; his white eyes staring with intensity that could freeze, at a gravestone by his feet.

    WENDY ELISABETH PARKS
    2015-2037
    DIED 12TH OF NOVEMBER 2037
    AGED 22
    LOVING WIFE OF SEAN PARKS
    REST IN PEACE

    The scarred man did not leave until many hours later. Only when the wind had departed and the rain had finished pouring did he turn away from the flooded soil of the dead, and depart. He left no trace. Nothing… but one, single, white rose.

    TWO

    My feet are sore from walking, a stitch in my side slows me down, I can hear my breath wheezing out of me. The sunlight is fading and stars are starting to appear, like freckles on the face of the sleeping sky. Sean is ahead of me, the wind catching his hair, playing with it, making it bounce around in the winter dusk. Suddenly realising I’m no longer beside him he turns. Silhouetted against the sinking sun he looks so impressive. All the way from the house he’s seemed distracted, I ask him what’s wrong, but he just shakes his head. Grabbing my hand he starts to pull me up the hill again.
    When we finally reach the crest I collapse onto an immense rock to catch my breath. Sean pulls an old-fashioned white handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans and blindfolds me. Giggling, I reach up for his hands as he ties the ends of the handkerchief together behind my head. He kisses me and tells me to stay where I am, I promise that I will and listen as he squelches off through the mud. After a while I begin to shiver; the warmth of the sun has long gone.
    “Sean?” My voice cuts through the cold night air.
    The sound of laughter reaches my ears; a group of people are coming up the hill. I turn my head towards the sound and call out again for Sean. The sound of many feet squelching through the mud stops; all that can be heard is the sound of people trying to be quiet; a sneeze, an occasional mutter, some feet stamping the ground to try and warm up their owners.
    Trembling hands remove my blindfold, Sean. He has removed his t-shirt and jeans and is standing before me in a dark navy tuxedo, a white rose in the buttonhole. I stare around as a large group of people circle me; David, Meggie, Jay, even my parents. Roses are everywhere, red, pink, yellow, orange, white. What with that and the muffled sent of the heather beneath the snow I feel like I’m in a forest. The moon is out now, and the sky is clear.
    I look back at Sean and everything slows down as realisation dawns. He lowers himself to one knee, a squelch of mud. He takes my hand and looks into my eyes. Then he holds up a bouquet of red roses, in the middle, taller than the rest, is a single white rose. I take the flowers and look up at Sean, slowly he reaches into the bouquet and takes a small white box hidden within the flowers. He looks at me with reverence as he opens the box. My heartbeat slows to a speed a snail could outstrip, a stream of thoughts too fast for even myself to comprehend races through my mind. I look around me, Kate, Gail, Harrison. Every one we know is here, even Mrs Thay; my manager. I look up at the stars, the little lights blink down at me from far above, I look to my left, down the hill we have just climbed, and I imagine walking back down that hill again with Sean as a fiancé. I focus my thoughts to the bouquet in my hands, I reach out and pluck the white rose from its fellows. I’m not really looking at the rose, I am thinking of the moment I met Sean, of the time we spent together, in the forest, in the town going to Jimmy’s, the cinema, I smile, at each others houses. I pick up the ring from the box in front of me. I look at Sean again, and I know. He is my future; I slip the ring onto my finger.

    THREE

    Blood stains the delicate white petals. I watch as the white of the innocent blossom is corrupted by the angry red of death. I look at the stars blinking high above me, my last sight; the beautiful sky. I do not blame him; he has killed me, and I don’t blame him. He has taken my life to save another, why should I blame him for that? His face is as white as the snow beneath our naked bodies, before it was stained red by the river of crimson flowing from my breast. His bare chest is sticky with scarlet blood, his hands are shaking, his eyes wild, his mouth open in an O of horrified shock.
    I will die, he will not, and life is unfair; he will have the rest of his years to carry the knowledge that he has taken life…my life.
    Though he meant to pull the trigger, and he meant to shoot me. I know he loves me, and I know that it is because he loves me that he had to stop me. I am not angry, I’m not sad, I am… nothing. I know it is for the best, but I still resent him. I resent him for being able to choose to let go, to choose to forgive - to forget. I resent not being able watch her grow.
    Wind whips through the scene, pulling at my hair, a few white petals rise into the air and I am taken back into memory, to the times I spent before any of this, in the forest. Of the times I spent with him; my lover, my life, my killer.
    I hear him muttering under his breath “Oh God - Oh God - Oh God”. He leans over me and strokes me face, leaving a trail of ruby blood, he whispers in my ear, I smile. Maybe I do love him…

    FOUR

    On the 5th of December 2052, a man came to the town of Carolhill. With his scarred face and white eyes, he was avoided by the locals. One day, when it was almost dark, he met the man he had been searching for, for over ten years, and killed him. That night the Carolhill coppers heard a gripping story...