• From a Rose to a Raven


    If a girl is born a flower, and her home burns down, what is she to do? Why of course she simply waits, roots sunken deep underground. The flames draw closer, and she burns to ashes. What started out as innocence is consumed by flames and charcoal.
    And if a Rose is drowned in tears, then why is it dry when the flames are raging on? Is it merely because the heat has dried the dew? No, of course not. But maybe, maybe it's because the tears before were purely tears of joy. Now that joy is extinct, it would only make sense for the Rose to take in one last breath of air before it dies.

    The sky was the dullest grey I'd ever seen that day. Even the sun's rays seemed to be made of melancholy flickers. It was as if the world was a dreadful monochromatic sonnet. It was the day my father died. The day my only home had been crushed right before my very eyes. Since that gunshot, the only colour I remember is red. Everything else is merely greyscale.
    So what was a Rose to do? Why of course they'd send me away. As if I'd gone mad. As if I were crazy. Well, maybe I was. After all, it wasn't normal for a girl to see everything in greyscale with splashes of crimson, was it? I was lost in a world of madness.

    I could only turn to opiates and pain killers. They were the only things that kept me close to sane as my foster parents bickered and my waist became a needle's canvas. The months grew worse, and the hours faded ever more grey every mournful day.
    It wasn’t long until all I knew was smoke in the air, needles in my arms, and holes in my heart. My life was being taken away. Far far away. I didn’t know where I was going. No angel could save me. Not then. And in those moments, I didn’t want salvation. I just wanted another pill, another drag.
    What could I have done? A single Rose, in a field of lost flowers. We all wanted something, but didn’t know what. We all needed something, but didn’t know why. All I wanted was hell. All I needed was help. After diving in there’s no floating to the top. Once you’ve started, life without it ceases to exist.

    And then the day came. The day that the little Rose died. Of course the Rose would burn in this flame. It was innevitable. The drugs consumed her. She succombed to their power. What a weak girl, unable to control herself. Now, though she died, it didn’t mean nothing could take her place. She merely became a new person. A girl of fire. Almost like a pheonix. But forever she shall be a Raven.

    If a girl is born a flower, what must a Rose do when she’s buried in flames? She burns to ash, and is gone forever. A new spirit takes over her life. She is no longer the pure Rose she once was. She is reborn, even against her will.
    Now if a Raven soars through the air, what is she to do when she’s a hunter’s prey? She simply falls from the sky, no colour but red being her last memory. Her monochrome nightmare being put to eternal rest. Once a Rose, then a Raven, now a memory.