The Thorns Of A Rose

The Thorns of

a Rose

By Rob Reilly

Prologue As the last rose petal fell, the wind blew through the trees like a ghost in the night, carrying the dead, dried up leaves scuttling out from the woods and onto the mahogany porch. The ebony rocking chair began to creek as the wind drove it back and forth, and slowly back and forth again on the mahogany porch. The wind slipped its way through a velvet material, forcing it to sway in every direction. It blew up against the material, making it ripple around a figure standing on the porch. The cold air lightly blew against her soft, pale face. Her long, black hair was a slave to the wind, as it freely twisted through the silky blackness, contorting it into the shapes of its art. The ever-soft breeze flowed all around her and through her hair with a melodic tempo, slowly creating the music of the night. The moon shined onto her pale face, reflecting her luminescent glow. Her skin was milky white and as smooth as a raindrop ripples in a pool. Her face could have been formed from the hands of such an artist as Michelangelo. She had strong bone structure, but kept a feminine essence. High cheekbones and a small pointed chin defined the rest of her face. Her lips were a deep, dark red. They were full and plump and always had the appearance of being pursed. Many villagers tell stories to this day and even their

children would strain their imaginations trying to decipher how her lips could always be the deep, dark color of blood. The children usually made up wild stories of how she drinks the blood of animals, and the older children would add, “And little children too!” The woman’s eyes were a bright green, like the color of vines and the dangerous stem of a rose. Her stare was cold and unfeeling. Her eyes were empty; no thoughts, no feelings were ever seen behind her green eyes. The breeze continued as the sounds of the forest and the lake mixed together. The animals within the forest, the insects, the rustling of the leaves and the trees as the wind blew through them, and the sounds from the small stream that emptied out into the lake. The lake was too small to be properly entitled as one, but the woman kept a small boat tied up to a dock at the shore. A winding, cobbled path led up a hill, away from the shore of the lake. The hill was decorated with assortments of wild flowers and other exotic plants and the cobbled path led up to the mahogany house at the top of the hill. There, standing on the porch, was the woman. She cared not for style or fashion, among other things, so her wardrobe was plain. She wore a light, flowing dress. The dress was dark blue and made of a velvet material. It was draped around her full chest and down to her hips tightly and became billowing and light from there down to just

below her knees. She wore small black shoes, with a short heel underneath. She stood on the porch with a posture of pride, but she had the sad complexion of a widow. She twiddled her fingers as she surveyed the view around her. Her eyes taking in the forest and the lake, as the wind toyed with each, preparing them for the coming storm. She listened to each sound that came from the darkness. This night, reminded her of that fateful evening. She remembered the screams, his handsome face, and the fear in their eyes. She fought against the memories, but they consumed her. She saw flashes of that night and the memories made it unbearable for her to breathe. The sound of the hard, falling rain, the thunder, the guilt; they created an overwhelming pain in her gut and it all became too much for her. Tears began flowing from her eyes and as she dropped hard down on her knees, she let out a deafening scream. Everything became quiet. The animals in the forest, the insects in the trees, and even the wind seemed to die away for a moment. The only sound that could be heard was the woman’s sobbing. She stopped. She wiped away her tears and tried to regain some composure. The silence was still around and all that could be heard was her slow, heavy breathing. Then she uttered a single word, in barely a whisper. “Darius” Her deep breathing stopped, with a quick, painful intake of breath. Total silence swept over

the hollow of the woods, where the stream meets the glassy, black lake. After what felt like ages, a soft breeze, suddenly swept into the hollow, breaking the silence. The trees began to sway and the leaves rustled, making the sound of a crackling fire. The woman was on all fours. She raised her head, her face glistening from her tears, and looked out at the woods. The cool wind blew onto her face. A tear running down her cheek, dried up in the cool breeze. The impact of the tear and the breeze chilled her to the bone and sent a shiver running down her spine. She stroked her hand through her silky long, black hair, pulling it out of her face. She slowly got up and turned to enter the house when she saw a slight movement near the edge of the woods. She stopped and peered out into the darkness. The moonlight cast shadows throughout the hollow. The shadows stared back at her and teased her, as they danced in the wind. The woman walked to the edge of the porch. She surveyed the edge of the woods, scanning for the source of the movement. Out of the blackness, she saw two glinting lights, half an inch apart from each other, in one of the dancing shadows on the edge of the forest. For a moment, the woman hesitated whether she had seen them or not, for they disappeared, but a second later they returned in the exact same spot. The woman on the porch took another quick painful intact of breath, only this time, it was silent. They were eyes.

The glinting eyes were staring directly at her; they were fierce, piercing and cruel. For awhile, nothing in the hollow moved. The green-eyed woman didn’t dare to breath. She knew not who these cruel eyes belonged to and wished to never know, but with the fear running through her veins, she moved not one muscle. After ages, the eyes were gone. Within a single blink of the woman’s green eyes, the intruder’s eyes had vanished. For a moment, the woman was startled; believing the owner of the eyes had entered into the hollow. In a flash, she had retreated to the back of the porch, wildly scanning the hollow for the intruder. It was empty. She stood there alone on the porch. There was suddenly a change in the wind. It began to blow harder. The gentle zephyr had now morphed into continuous, plowing gusts. And in the whistling of the wind, as if it had spoken right to her, she heard it. “Rose” Her name. It wasn’t a human who said it, yet no one else was around. It had been said softly, faintly, not even a whisper. It was almost as if it hadn’t even been said at all. But she had heard it. The gusts of wind began to slam into her now, yet another wind seemed to be blowing too, a softer, gentler one. It traveled around her, entwining her. It traveled along her face to her ear, entered it, and then just as quickly, blew back out and disappeared.

Rose took one final glance around before turning and entering the mahogany house. She made her way up the old, creaky stairs to her bedroom, slipped into her nightgown, and slid under the warm sheets of her king-sized bed. Lying on her side, she listened to the sound of the lightly falling rain that had begun to fall as she had dressed. She pulled her legs up to her chest to keep her warm during the stormy night. As the rain fell harder, the tapping on her window became fierce and constant. That night, it wasn’t the rain that kept her from sleeping, but the light, soft tears that ran down her pale, white face.

1

Darius The hunt. It’s all about the hunt. The thrill and the adrenaline rushing through your veins, pushing you to your limits, and even those expand beyond your belief, to help you in your determination. That was how Feron would describe his affinity for hunting. One that compelled him to hunt, making the affinity all but dangerous. He told me that credo whenever we went out on a hunt. After years of hearing it three or four times a week, it was normal to see me behind him during his credo, mimicking him as if he was a reverend praising the word of the lord. Although I respected him as a hunter and he taught me everything I know, I have a different view on the love of the hunt. The kill. The kill brings you the respect and the showering glory. The hunt itself is, of course where the real work is done, but people don’t give you respect on how well you stalked your prey, only to have it get away right before you pulled the trigger to make the kill. No, it’s given when the villagers see you coming into town with the animal’s great, bloody carcass hanging over your back. Then the respect, the glory, is all yours. Feron probably thought differently, as he was always the better hunter. Getting the kill was easy for him, not so much for me. I had to work for it.

The sun was cutting through the ceiling of the trees in the forest, scattering the sunlight and shadows in the nook I had found myself in. A small pond was in the corner of a hill, a small waterfall pouring its clear contents into the glassy pond. I watched as some birds were drinking on the brink of the pond, some washing themselves, while chirping away. A squirrel ran down the tree and out into the nook. It picked up an acorn, and then like a speeding bullet, it shot up back into the tree. I observed the nook from my hiding place, a small patch of tall grass and wild orchids. There I waited, silently observing the life forms within the nook. Waiting, for my prey. Feron always said that there were only two animals in our forest that were really worth hunting, the wolf and the fox. The wolf was the mightier target worth hunting, because it was the most dangerous. Its wild rage when it attacks, the un-healing wounds, and the rumor of strange affects that happen to those bitten. To kill a wolf, you needed courage and utmost bravery. The fox, however, was cunning and always known for its slyness and wit. It took a lot more than bravery to kill a fox; it took intellect and a lot of patience. That is why I was always better at hunting the fox and Feron was better at hunting the wolf. And there I lay waiting for the sly devil to creep into the silent nook in the woods. And just as expected, a quick, red little figure, trotted into the nook. The fox observed the nook, stopping and ducking down in the dirt, its

eyes gazing out at its surroundings, as if everything lied naked before it. Then it shot up and quickly trotted over to the pond and began to take a drink. From the moment the fox entered the nook, my attention and adrenaline swirled. It had been awhile since I had gone hunting and the anticipation inside me was ready to burst. I didn’t usually hunt alone, but now it wasn’t like I had a choice. Together, Feron and I were the best hunters in our small town, and if I couldn’t hunt with Feron, I was better off hunting by myself, since the other hunters couldn’t possibly match our skills. And because of that, I now had no choice, but to hunt alone. I slowly and quietly got myself into position, pulling my gun up to my face and holding it out, grasping it firmly, yet gently. In the silver shine of the gun, I could see my reflection. My hazel eyes stared back at me, surveying my own appearance. I could see that the young man I had been was now mere remnants replaced by a man. I’m twenty-five years old and my boyish features are all but gone, replaced by mature, rougher skin and the features of a man. My low, chiseled jawbones down to my pointed chin are covered in light brown stubble, matching my thin, light hair. I stand at about 6’3, well built and defined. It was so long ago when I first began hunting in the woods with Feron and when we had both looked so different. We were about twelve, when we first entered the forest with our guns and began hunting by ourselves and neither of us had started

puberty. Feron was not simply my best friend; he was my brother. Had it not been for Feron, I would have never been able to stumble over my fears and marry Serena, Feron’s younger sister. Along with Feron the two of them make up my family, they are my everything. It is amazing how my world and life falls in place; everything in my life has always been set into stone, the hand of God weaving his perfect design, allowing me to see my path in life is straight, all is delicately placed instead of the other’s, who’s path is a winding, esoteric road to hell. Serena has icy blue eyes, and when you look in them, it’s like looking through a clear tear and seeing the bright blue sky behind it. I was only three the first time I saw those eyes open up and look at the world for the first time, but I believe I knew at that moment, that Serena and I would spend our life together, a long and happy one. It was quite a shock for her parents when her hair began to grow and it came out the color of gold. Her father’s hair was dark red, which he passed on to Feron, along with his looks; a skinny face, with big eyes, a long-pointed nose, and a long-pointed chin. Serena’s mother had black hair, but she passed every other wonderful feature on to Serena, with bright blue eyes, a small-pointed nose, and a skinny, round face, with a small chin. The golden hair was an attribute from God, which was the only conclusion they could decide on. Together the three of us were a trinity of our own. It’s sad that

those memories are all that I have left of my best friend. I set myself up for the kill and peered out at the fox. My anticipation reached its limit. My index finger hugged the trigger like a young boy clings on to his mother. “This one, was way too easy.” On the other side of the nook, I saw a brief glimpse of red and I heard the shifting of branches. I didn’t even get a chance to see what had entered the nook before it had come out of no where and slammed right into me, sending a reaction to my trigger finger, which sent a shot blasting out into the nook, while I was sent rolling into the orchids. The fox at the pond, took off into the forest with a flash, while all the birds in the nook took off into the sky, sending feathers showering down in my nook. Fury shot through me and I got up to see my attacker. And I turned face to face with a fox. As I stared at it, my mind was in total disbelief. Another fox had been in the nook without my knowing and it had attacked me. Foxes don’t usually attack, their too smart for that. But it had happened, the fox came sprinting at me and knocked into me before I could shoot the other. But as I stared at my attacker, I looked into the red devil’s eyes, and it wasn’t disbelief that sent a shockwave through me, but fear. The fox had gray eyes. There was no doubt; I could see the color as clearly as I could see my own hazel eyes. But foxes don’t have gray eyes, and as I looked at the fox, I realized that its face

and eyes were familiar. Too familiar. A rush of fear seared through me and I swung my gun at the fox and it sprinted off back into the woods. Maybe it was just that this was the first time I had gone hunting since it happened, or maybe I was only seeing things, but those eyes had belonged to someone I knew, even the fox’s face had resembled his. Thoughts ran through my mind as I made my way back to town. I felt as though I was being haunted. As though, the guilt I feel everyday isn’t enough, but now I must be haunted by a ghost. I had not been hunting alone in the nook after all; I had been hunting with the same person I have always hunted with. I could never forget the eyes and face that I saw on that fox and I never will, for those eyes and that face, belonged to a dead man. They had once belonged to my best friend. Those gray eyes had once belonged to Feron.

2 Rose My mother once told me never to dream about the world afar, because once you dream of being in that tragic world, you can never return to the one you love. I should have known to believe her, especially when most things she told me were true. She had raised me to be a free, strong-minded woman, who lived for her own beliefs, did what she decided to do, ashamed of no choices she’d make, and most importantly, a woman who needed nothing and no one. My mother had brought me up to be exactly like her.

The air outside was hot and humid, the grass and trees were twinkling with the raindrops from last night’s storm, as the sun’s first rays shown on them, the early morning light. Everything was slick and wet from the rain; the mahogany porch looked as if it had just been cut from the trees and the rain had seared away its rough, outer coating to show its true natural beauty. Down the side of the hill, I could see my exotic garden seemed to come alive at the first touch of the morning light. The vines and stems soaked in the remaining raindrops and morning dew, that had attached themselves onto the raging vines. As the bright rays from the sun pierced through the clouds and the trees, and shown onto the buds of the stems, the wild flowers began to bloom; each flower had its own color and together they created a painting of vibrant colors. As a child, I used to believe that my mother had been cast out from the town outside the woods, but now I can understand my mother’s affinity for the woods and the beauty found within. The sight I see everyday, first in the morning

and then again in the evening, is one incomparable to anything a human could create. The peaceful silence that surrounds this area has a way of soothing a person, like a warm bath and it helps clear one’s mind and enables them to think. It is easy for me to see how my mother had fallen in love with this place, although it isn’t easy to see how she could have been betrayed by people who had known her so well. My heart wrenches every time I am forced to remember what had become of my mother and I always find myself staring out at the lake, imagining the splashes and thunderous waves that had once occurred within it, only to realize how perfectly still the water was. My mother always said the world is a cruel place, however I believe it is not the world that is cruel, but the people within it. My mother and I both lived tragic lives, she had lived in a world where she had been tossed out, like a wench would do with a flower, while I had thrown myself out, refusing to abide to the lifestyle and lies of merciless people. She had loved and had that love torn away and I had refused to love, until the poison consumed me.

Love is a magik of the world’s cruel people, one that both hurts and heals, rages and relaxes, blesses and curses; love is a poison that both gives life and kills. Love devours a human’s soul, it plants its seed inside the heart, where it grows and embeds itself within, until the vines break through the heart and wrap itself around it, where it continues to grow and where thorns erupt from the vines, piercing the heart and the organs around it, until the vines tighten around them, tearing the heart apart, while its victim is at the mercy of its pain. The vines continue to grow, and tighten, and rip, and tear apart the insides of its victim, till all that the poor soul wishes for is to die and to be done with the pain, and that is where the poison tricks its poor victim’s mind, and as it happily accepts its victim’s request and the soul is finally torn to no avail, its victim is laid to rest, deep within the soil of the ground. And even there, the vines continue to grow until they break the skin and crawl through the soil, until it breaks free, out into the world, where it collects all the pain from its victim and gathers it into a bud and when it

blooms, the blood soaks itself out into the flower, dying it the dark, red color of blood, and lastly, the pain of love is transferred into beauty, where nothing has more beauty, than that of a rose.

3 Serena Forgiveness. Why is it something that is too hard to give? Why do people find themselves trapped within it, unable to forgive and unable to be forgiven? What is it deep within the depths of our souls that we are unable to let go of the overbearing aggression that we feel and let the mistakes be forgiven? Why is it that we cannot release our unrelenting grip on our pride and pain? It is said that the heart can never be whole unless you can forgive, but how can the heart ever be full after the pain it has endured? How can I let myself forgive him, and how can I be forgiven? The early morning light hits the forest’s canopy and the rays scatter into the shadows, illuminating the life within. From the window of my bedroom on the second floor, I can see the world reborn. Across the valley, a man with a gun hung over his shoulder is making his way to the edge of the forest. I used to watch two men enter the forest every other morning, but now I am only able to watch one enter the shadows of those thick, wooden gates. And though I love the man who enters the forest at this very moment, I cannot help, but wish he were accompanied by the other. Feron was the link that kept Darius and me

together, he was what bound us to one another apart from our love, and now, he is gone. Of coarse, people have told me that it wasn’t my fault and that there was nothing anyone would have been able to do anyway, but I still feel the guilt, and I’m sure that Darius feels it as well. The two of us have barely spoken since the tragedy, whether it is from the guilt, or a coping mechanism, or some other topic entirely. I now feel so alone. I have lost my brother. I am now losing my husband. Just outside the house there is an old, stone well, one that Feron and I have used since we were first able to, whenever our parents had called on us to get some water for chores, or bathing, or to drink. That well has seen us grow up, since we were kids running around it, playing on it even, up to this very morning when I will need to bathe. However, I am unable to look upon that old, stone well anymore, to think of using it for any purpose at all. I cannot possibly imagine using the well ever again. The anger that burns in my veins, the guilt that breaks me down, the shame that darkens my soul, all refuse to let me do a simple task of sending a bucket down the well and bringing it back up full of water; water, that has been cursed. I shall never again use that water for chores. I shall never again bathe in that gross contamination. I shall never again let that water touch my lips and swim into my mouth, poisoning me and cursing my soul. And I shall never again see my brother, who’s

pale, dead body was found at the bottom of that old, stone well. Whikshire is a small, isolated town in northern England, surrounded by a vast forest. Not many people live in the town, but even less move away, so every villager knows one-another. It is spread out among the patches of land where the forest doesn’t grow and each family fends for themselves, hunting for their meat and growing their own crops. In the center of the village there is a small church, as well as a few buildings where the villagers can buy, trade, and sell their goods with one another. Very rarely do outsiders barge into our village and therefore the ones that do are treated as untrustworthy fools, who simply got lost wandering around in our woods, even if they came here for a reason and purpose. I personally believe that it is unwise for a stranger to enter into our village, even if they are merely passing through. There are too many secrets and dangers within the woods, but even more within the homes of Whikshire. Passing through is just another danger down a road that should not be traveled upon. The villagers of Wilkshire are simple people, but there are those among us who cannot be trusted. Generally, we are a religious people, some more practicing than others, but rumors within the town’s walls and ones streaming through the forest tell of devil worship and witchcraft. Such terrible things that Whikshire has been blessed not to endure for quite sometime, not since I was but a child. But now, a

growing shadow looms in our forest; woman never really entered it before, but now it is unspeakable and the young boys and hunters now return with stories of strange encounters with some unknown evil. These happenings seem to be a long-awaited continuation of things that happened long ago; such things that the townspeople of Whikshire took horrendous measures in an attempt to stop the devil’s work. At first, it had seemed that their attempt had been all for nothing, and a few took sympathy for the sacrifice that had been made, however the strange occurrences and encounters stopped, and then, none took sympathy for their victim. But as these events begin to occur again, it is unknown whether the townspeople were foolish, or wise, it is unknown whether they should be praised, or forgiven.

4 Rose Today the lake is calm. From my mother’s garden on the hill, I can see the entire lake. Its cold, black water resembles its merciless nature, much like that of human nature, which is cold, black, and merciless. Human nature, is nothing like Mother Nature. With Mother Nature, you have to give love and care in order to receive it and in Mother Nature’s case, you receive beauty. I’m almost certain in that had been my mother’s philosophy on her garden. Although, I’m not certain since she never did get a chance to explain why she really kept a garden, where certain plants in

it had come from, and why only certain ones grew within it. There are many questions I wish I could have answers for about her garden, most importantly, why doesn’t her garden have a single rose grow within it? I know that was her favorite flower; it was her favorite creation from Mother Nature. It was after all, the name she had given me, a daughter she hadn’t expected, and the only one she would ever have. But with all her love of that wretched plant, why wouldn’t she have one in her most prized collection? I have searched every inch around this forest, in and out, searching desperately to find a single rose, and no where within its depths do the stems of a rose grow. The most baffling thing is, is if the rose doesn’t grow in or around this forest, where did my mother hear the name and when did she see one, for I know that she had indeed seen one, because since she saw it, she could think of nothing to be more beautiful than that sight of a rose, except the sight she saw, when she had first held me in her arms, naming me so.

These questions and more, I shall never have answers to, all because those terrible people had believed in a fool’s errand. The villagers of Whikshire believe they are so highly religious, but the deeds they have committed are the ones that if a god exists, he would raise out his fist of justice and smite them down into the very fires of hell, that they so dearly wish to be consumed by; they who believe that they do righteous work and proclaim the word of God, only to commit blasphemy against him seconds later, with their heads to the ground. It was they, who first came with the idea that an intelligent, free-thinking woman, who loved nature, had to be a witch. Their pestilence came from their own condemnation; if they had taken proper care of things then their town wouldn’t have been wrought with decay. The evil spirits of the forest, were the mere imagination of young boys and drunken men. My mother and I, lived out here in our home, minding ourselves, disturbing no one and nothing. We had been happy, living a

quiet and peaceful life. Then that terrible morning came. I was thirteen years old, the early morning light had awoken me from my slumber and I had gone to my mother’s room to wake her. She was sleeping peacefully, in some dream where only good things happen. I laid on her bed beside her, forehead to forehead. My mother and I were practically a mirror image, except I was a much younger version. I laid there for awhile, until I realized that she had opened her eyes and was watching me. I looked at her and her at me, and we just smiled. A smile I can still see, when I close my eyes and think of her. And then, the front door was knocked down. My mother had grabbed me and pulled me to her, holding me tightly as only a mother could do. Sounds of men filled the house. Yells from below and crashes from all around the house mixed into the vast cacophony of sound. My mother and I listened, horrified, to the thunder from a dozen footsteps racing up the stairs and the crash of my mother’s bedroom door being broken open. Screams erupted from

me and my mother, as the men grabbed the two of us and threw us off the bed. They dragged us down the creaky, staircase, bruising our bodies. They threw my mother out onto the porch and from there I could see that just about the whole town was there, save for the children. The men were all there, along with their wives, casting out their judgment upon my innocent mother. The Reverend himself, was the leader of the pack, in one hand he held a bible and in the other a large cross, holding it out at my mother, as if she was a creature from the stories the men told at night. And he judged my mother. He didn’t do as his religion is taught, to let God do the judging, but he took it upon himself to play the part of God, and he judged my mother. And then he sentenced her. Tears had been running down my mother’s face all along, but now they poured out and she began to scream, with every last breath she could. Again, the men grabbed me and my mother and dragged us down to the lake. The villagers followed, bearing witness to their horrendous deed. Three men took my mother out to the shore

of the lake, till the water was up to their waist. For a moment, my mother and I, stopped resisting the men, stopped our crying and screaming, and we looked each other in the eyes and gave a wry smile, one last time. Then, as two men grabbed me, keeping me from running and forcing me to watch, the three men plunged my mother into the lake. My lungs forced out all the air, as I sent out scream after scream into the hollow of the woods, the tears streaming out of my eyes were almost certainly the blood that was pouring out of my wrenching heart, as I helplessly watched the men drown my mother. Her flailing arms were no match against the men and it didn’t help no matter how much she kicked her legs, but she endured every second, and she fought them with every last breath she had, remembering the words the men had whispered in her ear right before they plunged her head into the water, “Wait till you see what we do with your daughter.” The water in the lake was churning, as my mother fought her attackers, the thump, thump, thump as her she brought

one arm up and the other down, never losing the will to go on, but the thing about will and energy, is that one of the them does eventually falter and fail, and that is energy. And with my final cry and deafening scream, my mother’s body went limp and I knew then, that my mother was dead. The men stopped holding her down, and dragged her body back to shore, where they dug up one end of my mother’s garden, dropped her flaccid body in, and then buried her. The lake became calm. No one else cried for my mother. The villagers began to walk back to the town and then the three men that had killed my mother, grabbed me, and dragged me back to Whikshire. As I returned to my senses, I realized that I was now at the shore of the lake, its black, glassy surface completely calm. It looked dead. Like my mother. I had been crying, and I had been screaming, and there is now no one here on this earth, for whom I can hold onto. I am alone.

5 Feron Everyone has a secret. Something hidden deep within the chambers of our mind that we refuse to unveil to anyone, lest we serve our consequence. What makes a secret though? Love? So that the ones we dearly care about will never have to know some terrible truth. Fear? From the consequences that await, haunting your mind, body, and soul, afraid that you will be found out and that misfortune will take hold. Guilt? Tearing you apart inside and out, wanting to do the right thing, but unsure which way is the “right” path to choose. The shame bearing over you, leaving you trapped under a giant shadow of remorse. Now, what binds that secret from breaking its silence? Trust? Between a confidant, a friend, or maybe between yourself; you and your mind, but then again, does anyone really ever trust anyone?

Even perhaps, themselves? And lastly, what breaks a secret? What cracks the barrier of the secret, unbinds the trusting hold around it, and obliterates the very core of the secret, breaking its silence? Betrayal. The loss of trust leaves the door wide open, letting the secret able to slip out into the world, to be heard, to be found out. And when it is found, there is anger. Fury and rage consume their victim, until it collides with the guilty party, and both parties clash, exploding the truth out into the world. Darius has a secret. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I will find out, I always do. He never could keep a secret from me. He’d try shrugging it off and telling a little, white lie, but he never could get anything past me. And now as I watch him hunting in the forest, I can see clearly, that he is troubled by something. “Your aim is off.” I tell Darius. Darius just gave me a little laugh, barely leaving his mouth, along with his usual look of “I know your right, but I’m ignoring you.” He had himself a perfect target, and missed the fox completely. “I don’t understand why you even try to get “the kill” from a fox.” I said. “If they are too smart for me, then they are definitely too smart for you.” Darius stopped scanning the thick of the woods and turned to me. “Then how is it, that I have killed more of them than you?” Darius says, with a curved smile on his face.

“Oh God and the Heavens only know.” I answer, with a laugh. “I’ll never understand why you don’t get the same pleasure out of killing a wolf as I do.” Silence looms in the thick of the woods. “Oh, that’s right, because you can’t.” And with that I began to laugh. Darius wasn’t too pleased with the comment. The truth is, Darius has never killed a wolf. Usually, the fathers of Whikshire take their sons out on a hunt, where they are to kill a wolf, and in the event that they succeed, they can then be called a man. Well, Darius never was able to kill that wolf, and he never has been able to kill one since. “Now Darius,” I said. “”I haven’t seen you miss a shot, since the day before you asked for Serena’s hand in marriage. So what could possibly be upsetting you so much, that you could miss that perfect shot?” Darius couldn’t even look me in the eye. He simply sat down on a log, bowed his head into his hands, with his elbows supported on his knees. He closed his hazel eyes and said, “A rose.”

6 Darius

When I was a young boy, about the age of twelve, something strange happened in Whikshire. The townspeople were afraid. Our crops were dying, strangers from distant lands kept appearing in our woods, apparently they were just traveling, but no one trusted them. Our small town seemed to have started to decay. The horrid smell of rot was everywhere you walked, and a few people died from a supposed plague, their bodies were burned before the church so that the plague would end and God would forgive the sins of Whikshire. Strange creatures that the men could only describe as “evil demons” seemed to haunt anyone who entered the forest. Then one night, there was a meeting in the church, and although the children were forbidden to attend the meeting, Feron and I had snuck into the back and we hid under the furthest pews. The meeting was about witchcraft in our forest and the survival of Whikshire. Certain members of the community gave their testimonies of occurrences that had happened to them, while others gave testimonies of whom had plagued Whikshire and what witchcraft they had used. It was soon decided what the townspeople were going to do to end the decay of our town. And it was decided that it would happen at dawn. Feron and I had slipped out just before the townspeople had begun to rise from the pews. Neither one of us knew what the meeting had been about nor what would happen at dawn, but we awaited the next day on the tips of our toes. I

remember that night, I couldn’t sleep, whenever I closed my eyes it seemed that had I suddenly dropped into a body of water in which I was unable to escape, no matter how much I kicked my arms and legs. The next morning, Feron had woken me, but it seemed that we had already missed the congregation make their leave; every household was empty, save for the children. Feron and I, along with many other children, searched every space in the town that we thought they would have gone, but our search ended to no avail. Now all Feron and I could do was wait, and wonder where they had gone. It didn’t take long for our answer. An hour later, the townspeople began to exit from the forest. Not in one large congregation, but grouped up, with small packs of people. No one had died, and no one had disappeared. Every one of the townspeople that had left at dawn had returned home, there was just one small difference. One more had retuned from the forest with them. A girl. A girl that neither I nor Feron, nor any of the other children had ever seen before. She had long, silky black hair, with emerald green eyes, and her lips, were a bright, dark red, and as Feron pointed out the moment he saw her, her lips were the dark ruby color, of blood. The girl was crying, and she appeared to have been crying for quite some time. Two women were walking beside her, and they took her to the school. Feron and I followed the lot of kids into the

school, to find out who this girl was and where she had come from. Inside the school, the two women had sat the girl down in a corner chair and were trying to comfort her, all the while, children were asking them questions about where they had gone, and about the girl. The two women question the girl about her needs, if she need water or food. But the girl was unresponsive, she refused to speak. So the women sent some children out to fetch some water, but there was no need, because someone had already done that, and she was now standing before the weeping girl. It was little, nine year old Serena, holding a bucket of water that seemed too heavy for her to hold. She slowly walked up to the poor girl, set the bucket of water at the girl’s feet and said, “My name’s Serena. What’s your name?” Very slowly, the weeping girl looked up into the innocent, bright blue eyes of Serena, with her brilliant, bright green eyes and slowly, her ruby, red lips formed a smile on her pretty, young face and she said, “Thank you, Serena. My name, is Rose.”

7 Serena How can two people be in a relationship, an ordained one, and not speak to one another? I know that the tragedy of Feron’s death struck Darius just as hard as it struck me, but I would think that something like that would’ve brought us closer together, not separate us. I look to him to bring me some comfort, some love, some hope of moving on, but I receive none. And worse, he can’t even look upon my face anymore, and if he finds himself staring upon it, he turns away in shame. I am so confused by his actions, and every action I

make towards him, he rejects. He now spends the entire day, within the forest, hunting. For two weeks now, everyday at dawn he enters it, while I watch from our bedroom window and everyday at sunset, he returns from the woods, while I watch from our ash wood porch. I cook in silence, together, we eat in silence, while he is out hunting in the forest, I spend my days at home, in silence. Although, I’m not sure his days in the woods are a pleasure to him either, he hasn’t brought home any dead carcass that has to be cooked in the last two weeks, in fact, since Feron’s death, I don’t think he has been able to kill anything. Except, for the way he is slowly, painfully killing me. I can barely think of a time when we could not speak to one another, do anything with one another, or even look at one another. The time that we did not spend every waking minute with one another was so long ago, but I can remember it so well. The memories of pain come so much easier to mind, then memories of happiness. It was when Rose had first come to Whikshire. She may have been born within our forest and lived there her whole life, but she had never entered into our town, until that strange morning. I would never have been so nice to her, if I had known how attached Darius would soon become to her. She had first opened up to me and she would talk to me and one of the nicer medicine ladies, named Meghan. Then, Darius went to talk with her, and she of course, responded to him.

Funny enough, out of all the people she chose not to speak to, she actually spoke to Feron, although she never had anything nice to say to him, but he, had never said anything nice to her in the first place. She was very reserved, and spent most of her time, outside working in different women’s gardens, helping them with all her knowledge of Mother Nature. She would read and absorb the knowledge right out of the book, like a cloth absorbs water. She would dance when ever she heard music playing from the men’s cabin, most of the time, she would grab Darius and dance with him. At first he didn’t know how, but she taught him, and then they would dance regularly. I told myself that his infatuation with Rose, was only because she was new, all alone in the world, and she was older than him, only by a year, while I was three years younger than him. But there were also rumors that Rose’s mother, had been a witch. And the moment that rumor met my ears, I feared that maybe she too, was a witch and she had my Darius under a spell. For two years I had to endure Rose taking my place with Darius, but only two years. After two years of living in Whikshire, at the age of fifteen, Rose decided to go back into the forest and live by herself. It was a shock to the head townspeople. For some reason, they were disturbed by her wishing to leave and go back and live in her old home. I didn’t care why, I just wanted her to leave. And although the head townspeople forbid her to

leave, one day she slipped out in the dead of night, never to be seen or heard from again. I don’t really care what happened to her, so what if she went back to live in that old, broken home, so what if she lived by herself, so what if her mother was a witch, so what if one day, she too became a witch, because the day she left Whikshire, Darius returned to me, once again we became inseparable, apart from Feron. Rose’s evil spell was lifted from Darius, and once again, he was mine.

8 Rose My rose has died. The only one that was ever in my possession has finally released its last petal, leaving the stem to wither and die. It was not planted in the garden; I had too much respect for my mother, then to plant something in her garden that she had not planted in it herself. So I planted the seed that my love had given to me in the soil of the ground next to the lowest stair of the porch. A

traveling merchant had come to Whikshire and was selling and trading exotic herbs and spices, as well as seeds from a vast variety of plants. My love had seen this traveler and bought from him a single seed of a rose. When my love delivered it to me, I told him that it couldn’t have been the seed of a rose, because a rose’s seed comes from love and isn’t planted in soil, but in blood, within a human’s heart. But together, we planted it anyway. Over time, we watered it and cared for it, until a stem began to grow out from the ground. He had assumed that he was right; mocking my knowledge saying it was less than his. I admit, I was bewildered and utterly confused. I couldn’t believe that my mother would have been wrong, but Darius’ seed was indeed growing. In conclusion, I decided that the traveler had sold him a seed yes, but it wasn’t the seed of a rose, and that in time I would be proven correct. Darius however, kept his stand and told me, “When that rose’s bloom blossoms, you’ll see that it’ll be as red as your lips.” And with that he kissed my blood-red lips.

As it turns out, we were both wrong. It was indeed a rose’s seed that the traveler had sold Darius, although it was a very strange one. The rose was not the color of blood, not the color of my lips as Darius had said it would be. It was a pale white, the color of the clouds, and the color of my face. Together, we had laughed at our smug pride and humility, a laugh that I shall never hear again.

9 Feron I know Darius’ secret. He thought showing me the seed of a rose that he had bought would throw me off, but no, I’m too clever for that. I remembered the girl from long ago, whose lips were the color of the blood that covers a dead carcass when you lug it back to town. I even remembered her name. Rose. I also, remembered what we had seen a few weeks back, when Darius and I had been hunting deep in the woods. We had been in the northeastern part of the woods, a part that Darius and I rarely ever hunt in, because not that many wolves or foxes can be found in that area, but we had went there anyway. And we had gotten lost, wandering around, we came upon a hollow in the woods, where a mahogany house stood atop of a hill, that curved its way down to a small lake, on the hill there had been a garden, with strange looking plants and flowers, that all looked pretty ugly to me. But we had seen a woman, sitting on her knees, with her hands in the dirt pruning and

planting and watering the strange garden, humming and singing to a strange, little tune. The woman had long, black hair and she was very white. But what had really caught Darius’ and my attention was that her lips were very red. We weren’t very close to her, but from what we could see, they were dark scarlet all own their own, a natural beauty. We immediately recognized who this woman was, and before Darius could decide whether to say hello or not, I had grabbed him and began dragging him back into the forest, and told him to forget the witch. When Darius, had told me what was bothering him though, I immediately saw through his guise, and I saw that his problem was indeed a rose, just not the seed of one that he held before me, in the palm of his hand. My mind began to race and I wondered how many times in the last few weeks had he gone off to see her, when he had explicitly told me he was going hunting alone. How many times has he betrayed Serena? How could he have betrayed Serena? Hell, how could he betray me? I began to look at him in a completely different way, not as my brother, not as my best friend, but as my enemy. Fury consumed me and fire burned through my veins, boiling my blood. I told myself that I had to give Darius the benefit of doubt; he was after all, my family. So, I decided that I would follow him everywhere he went, stalk him, until I had proven myself wrong or until he led me right into that hollow in the woods, into the core of the secret.

Darius, however chose the latter, and that very night, I followed him to that hollow. I watched him walk to Rose, who stood waiting on the porch. I watched as he passionately kissed her the moment he was close enough. I watched him as he betrayed me, my sister, and all of Whikshire. As they entered the mahogany house, I quickly dashed to the porch and crept up its cracked stairs over to a window. From there, I could see them. Kissing each other and entwining their bodies. I watched them undress and continue their ritual. I watched them all night, until the tears within my eyes burned them too badly, to keep them open anymore, where I could no longer look upon my best friend, my brother, as he sold his soul to the devil, where it would burn in the fires of hell forevermore. Now as I look at him, taking aim at a fox, I can no longer recognize Darius. He is not the man I knew, he is not my brother, he is not the man who was my best friend. As the shot blasted out into the woods, sending out a roaring crack into the sky, the fox he had been aiming at ran off, completely unharmed, but severely frightened. “That Rose still bothering you?” I asked Darius. Darius looked at me with his hazel eyes, clearly annoyed that he had missed the fox, but more so from the comment. “Yea, I guess it is.” He said. I didn’t know whether I should dare risk it, but damn I’ll take the chance.

“Did her thorns prick you last night?” I asked. “Or was it your thorn that did the pricking?” Darius stopped fumbling with his bag of bullets. He looked me straight in the eye, and he knew, he knew that I knew. A crooked little smile crept onto my face, as I looked into his hazel eyes and saw the fear building up behind his stronghold of guilt. “Be careful with that Rose,” I said. “I hear her thorns will make you bleed, and then it’ll sting until you feel like a devil’s fool.”

10 Serena

Darius is still in bed. He must have been tired; usually he is the one who wakes me. Feron and Darius must have had some sort of fight last night, because the moment they returned from their hunt, neither one of them said a thing to the other. Usually the two of them are boasting of how they killed this and that, or had watched other hunters completely miss their shot and almost shot their best friend instead. But last night as we ate the wolf that Feron had killed, the two of them didn’t talk; to each other at least. They both talked to me, but couldn’t look each other in the eye. I’ve been in that situation before though, when one of them lost a bet to the other and he refused to pay up, or some stupid other reason that men seem to think is important. Right now, the two of them just need to cool off and the two of them sleeping in, getting some well deserved rest is the best idea. I walked next door to Feron’s house to see if he was sleeping as peacefully as Darius, who looked dead lying on our bed with his mouth open. I opened Feron’s door and entered his small house. His kitchen seemed undisturbed, as well as his clothing rack. I opened his door just a crack to see his bed, I couldn’t see him, and so I opened it all the way to find that Feron wasn’t in his bed. I quickly rushed to the other side of his bed to see if he had fallen off his bed in the middle of the night,

which with Feron, happens more often then it should, but he wasn’t on his floor either. I saw that a few of his belongings were gone, so I guess he probably went out hunting this morning without Darius. Maybe to give him a little more time to return to normal. But as I was walking towards his front door to leave, I saw his gun wasn’t in its usual spot against the wall, but on his table. I guess he didn’t go hunting. He must be somewhere, in the town. I decided, I’d wash up, cook breakfast, and eat with him when he returned. I left Feron’s house and walked to the old, stone well that lay in between our two homes. I sent the wooden bucket down; that was the easy part, pulling the bucket back up was the hard part. But as I began pulling it back up, I found myself tugging more so than usual, it was hard to pull back up, but no6 this hard. I continued pulling, and looked into the well, but as the sun had not yet risen, it was hopeless. The tugging of the rope became harder, maybe this was because of that little secret, maybe I was already becoming weaker; it really hasn’t been that long since I found out, or I guess, since it happened. My muscles were straining under the pressure, but I knew that I had to continue, pain was something I was going to have to endure from now on, this was nothing compared to the pain that’s going to come. In a couple months, I’ll have to endure the terrible pain of giving birth, so I would have to overcome this.

I haven’t even told my boys yet, Darius and Feron are going to be so happy when they find out, I can picture exactly what the scene will be, each of their faces, full of surprise and happiness, and of course, pride. Then they’ll laugh, Feron, with his harsh, higher pitched one and Darius, with his deeper, melodic laugh, and it will be impossible for us not to smile, me with tears of happiness running down my face. The last of the rope was left, and as I pulled it, the bucket rose up to the top of the levy, but there was something large attached to it though, and as the sun rose behind me, its first rays of light land upon Feron’s blue, lifeless face. Something within me, filled every crevice of my body, putting pressure everywhere and I felt I was going to explode. Greif, despair, disbelief, every terrible feeling that a human can feel, filled me. I looked into Feron’s open gray eyes, and it all became too much. I released the rope sending Feron’s dead body back down to the bottom of the well, as a blood curdling scream erupted from my lungs, and tears began to flow from my eyes. I fell to the ground, unable to feel anything, other than the pain twisting my heart. Darius suddenly appeared, running towards me on the ground, other townspeople began to exit their homes and run to the well, and me as I lay next to it. Darius who had been trying to comfort me and calm me down looks me in my eyes and says, “What’s wrong?”

All I do is point at the well, unable to speak the words I am trying to push out from my mouth, only one breathless word escapes though, “Pull.” And as the townspeople and Darius begin to pull up the bucket, which Feron’s belt somehow clung onto, all I can wonder is how will I ever be the same? How will Darius ever be the same? How will I tell him about the baby? Oh god, how will our lives ever be the same?

11 Darius The Kill. That is all that is important, getting the kill and bringing the carcass back, and having the respect and honor that is deserved. Since Feron’s death everyone thinks I’m losing it, even Serena, everyone except Rose. She never cared about any of the shit that all the townspeople care about. She never cared about measuring up to something, to other women, to other families, to parents, or to the head townspeople. All rose ever cared about, was being happy; living life, just to be happy, not to make other people happy. She told me I would kill this fox that haunts me every time I enter the woods. She said, that with perseverance I would overcome this animal, but she also said, that if this animal was a ghost, even if I kill it, it will return again. Whether or not she’s right, I will kill this devilish animal. Right now, it was stalking a mouse, and with the right timing I would get it. I crept below a branch and carefully placed my feet when I walked, so that I would not even crack a twig. I moved around to the opposite side of the nook, so that I was now, facing the fox. I was invisible to it, hidden behind branches, and as it crept up to the

mouse, stalking its prey, getting ready for the kill, I slowly did the same. I positioned myself at the perfect angle, and then raised my gun up to my face, aiming at my target. To kill a fox, you needed to out smart it, and here I had, and when the gray eyed fox pounces on that mouse, I’ll shoot him dead before he knows what hit him. The nook was silent. The only sound was the squeaking coming from the mouse. The fox, blended in with the wood around it, a chameleon of red fire. It inched its way closer, never taking its eyes off its prey. It moved closer until it was almost on top of the mouse. And as it got ready to attack, so did I. My finger grasped the trigger, the adrenaline pumping in my temple, in and out, in and out, in and out, as I waited patiently, and silently. The fox seemed to test my patience though, almost as though it knew I was there, maybe it did, but it didn’t matter, for two weeks I have hunted this animal down, and it escaped, but not today; today, I will prevail. And with that thought, the fox made his move, pouncing on the mouse so fast; it probably stopped its poor, little heart. But I was just as quick and the moment the gray, eyed devil left the ground, I duck under the bush with lightning speed and without a sound, and I dropped to one knee, using it to support my gun. When the fox got to the mouse, I had already gotten to my new spot and re-aimed. The fox, looked up into the barrel of the gun and then into my eyes, and as I

looked into those gray eyes I know so well, a smile curved onto my face and I said, “You lose.” And I squeezed the trigger, blasting a shot into the fox’s smug, shocked face, killing it instantly. A weird sensation filled me inside, a mixture of honor being returned and something of regret. If that was Feron’s ghost and it never returned, then I would never again see my friend, in any way, shape, or form. And guilt, as if I already wasn’t full of it enough, filled a new hole in my heart. But it didn’t matter, I hadn’t been able to kill anything for days, weeks, and now, that was all over. I had prevailed. And with a small little laugh, I said, “I finally beat you Feron.” Or so I thought. For the moment after I said that, something inches away from my head began to snarl and growl. And as I turned to look at this new apparition, I began to fear for my life, and then I saw it. A gray wolf, was staring me down, growling and barking, as I slowly got up to my feet, and when I looked into its eyes, I saw that they too, were gray. I had not won, because the game was not yet over, only this level, I was sure to lose. I turned and faced the wolf, realizing I still had to reload my gun. I looked down at it, then took a deep breath, before looking Feron’s new form in the eye. I looked into those big, gray eyes and said, “Okay, your turn.” And the wolf attacked. Leaving me with nothing, but my unloaded gun to defend myself with, leaving me with only one way of escaping,

brute force. Feron had chosen on Man vs. Man in life, and Man vs. Beast in death.

12 Rose How do people go on living after tragic things happen to them? How do they

continue to go by, doing the things they normally did before it happened, like eating, drinking, sleeping, laughing, crying, breathing, or even living? How do they go on day by day? How do they move on? I believe the answer is, that they just do, whether they want to or not, whether they wish they couldn’t live anymore, day by day, they just do. Life is different though, a wide gap is missing and it seems that something is always wrong, or that something should be different. They don’t feel anything, not the touch from others, not the things they touch, not the sadness, or happiness, or guilt, or sorrow inside them. Their whole body is numb, inside and out and although they go on, in their mind, they really don’t. My garden is looking dim today. I bend down to smell a flower and I see something. Hatred and disgust entwine together within me and I grab a shovel and start stabbing at her. She showed me kindness and then hatred, she came here, to destroy what we had had. She ruined everything. I stab at her, missing and end up stabbing a flower, look what she made me do. I hate her.

I see her again and that hatred consumes me and forces me to stab at her again, and again, and again. I hit her. I press the shovel into her and push. Pushing her down into the ground, until I start stabbing the wretched wench, again, and again, and again, and again, and although I know she is dead, I can’t help it. I drop the shovel on the ground and wipe away the tears that had run down my face. Then with heaving breathing, I pick up the shovel, dig into the hole I made and pull out the dead spider. I look closely at it, making sure its dead, before I send the spider flying off the shovel. The black widow is dead.

13 Feron Dear Sister, My love for you is what drives me to do this. I wish for you to know the truth, even when I know that it will hurt you. You deserve the truth at least. Darius, is not the man I thought he was, at least not anymore. He is no longer the man I knew as my best friend and he is no longer the man I once knew as my brother, because that man, would never hurt you, and this new one, has indeed hurt you. Serena, Darius has

betrayed you; he has been with another woman, one whom you and I, and even Darius believed we would never see again. I’m sure you remember her, her name is Rose, and she is a witch who lives in the forest. I am sorry to have to tell you this, but I couldn’t stand to see you being lied to everyday. Darius and I did fight today in the woods, about you. He refused to tell you the truth, he couldn’t bring himself to tell me; I had to see it for myself. And though I leave you now, alone with him, I will be back, and I will see you again. I love you, Feron

14 Darius I’m not sure I can do this anymore. My heart is split between two women, right down the center. I love both. I need both. But I am only allowed one. Guilt burns me inside every time I look at Serena, at her beautiful face, her golden hair, her sapphire eyes. I feel the shame and am unable to keep looking at her. What’s worse is that I can’t even

look into her eyes anymore, without thinking that my eyes will reveal my horrible secret. Feron had been right. Serena did deserve the truth, if nothing more. But I am too much of a coward to come out and tell her, face to face. I love her, but Rose makes me feel happy by just being me, not having to live up to standards, not needing to think of what’s best for the town, but what’s simply best for us. I know it sounds selfish, but it truly feels otherwise, when you feel what I feel. If I could go back, I probably would have run away with Rose that night when she left Whikshire forever. She had asked me to, but I was only fourteen, and I didn’t think I was ready for leaving the safety of the town. Unlike her, I had never lived outside of the town, having to rely completely on myself to do everything, I wasn’t ready, and I couldn’t say goodbye to Feron and Serena. But where is Feron now? What of Serena? She seems to be distancing herself from me as much as I have been from her. Is she feeling any regrets of her own? Would I be able to leave her all alone and helpless in this world? She has already lost her brother, her only family member that had been left. Could I really be the one to hurt her like that? And if I did leave her, what would then happen to her? Who would take care of her? All these thoughts rush through my head, as I sit on a chair by our front door. Serena is in the next room, reading something from the looks of it. I wonder about all the decisions I have made in my life, and try to decide if I have ever made the right

decision on any of them. For once in my life, I would like to make the “right” decision, and go down the correct path. I come to a decision, and choose which woman I need to be with, then I get up from the chair, and get ready to make one last choice.

15 Serena

My eyes are full of tears, as I finish Feron’s letter. I found it in the bottom of a drawer, that only I use, just not very often. Feron knew I would find it, he just didn’t know when. I hate him, for leaving, especially when he knew that I would need someone after finding out the truth, and who better to help me than my brother. But he is now dead, like my mother and father, and all I have is Darius. And now, it seems that I don’t even have him. Darius pokes his head into the room. “I, um, I’m going hunting in the woods.” He says. “I should be back in a bit.” Without looking at me once, his head disappears and I hear his heavy footsteps walk to the door, open it, and leave. Going out to hunt? At sundown? Darius rarely ever hunts at night. He does, however go off to the men’s cabin to get drunk, with all his friends, or at least that’s what he’s been telling me. How will he ever see what he’s shooting at? I stand up, annoyed at the fact that he probably just lied to me and I didn’t even realize it. And then I turn and see his gun, propped up against the wall. “Hunting,” I said. “Hunting with what?” I grab my purple robe and swing it around my back, sliding my arms through it, and put the hood over my head. I quickly run to the front door, swing it open, and run out the door, down the porch in pursuit of Darius, the door slamming shut in my wake. Before me I can see Darius close to the edge of the woods, and I pick up speed. The wind blows against me, as I see the dark clouds

that are being guided this way on the opposite side of the forest, with the setting sun behind me. Darius disappears into the woods, with me close behind. I run up to the edge of the forest and stop. I have never before entered the woods and know nothing of what lies within. But damned to hell, I lose Darius’ trail, so I muster all my courage and enter into the deep, dark abyss. I laugh, and a smile forms on my face, as a thought comes to my mind. The hunter becomes the hunted. I follow Darius deep into the woods, leaving enough distance so that he won’t notice me, but just enough so that I won’t lose him. Eventually, we come to a hollow in the woods, where a large mahogany house lays before us. Rose may call it home, I thought, but I call it Hell.

16 Rose This night reminds me of that fateful night. Here I sit in my comfy chair next to my fireplace, with a blazing, crackling fire, heating me to my core, while I sew a long, sleeved dress, for the coming winter. Outside, the wind is howling, every gust that slams into my house shakes its base and rattles the windows. One year ago, I was engaged in this same activity, when fate finally came calling my name. And the night ended with shattering heartbreak and unbearable tragedy. Darius came walking in through the front door, and into the room where I sat in

my comfy chair next to the grand fireplace. I wore a tight red dress, with tight sleeves down to my forearms. He looked happy to see me, but behind his hazel eyes, was the guilt that I had seen so often, and tonight, the guilt seemed tenfold. “I can’t do this anymore,” He said. “I have to choose, either you or her. This game is killing me, and I can’t bear to hurt you, but I also can’t bear to hurt her. Rose, I don’t know what to do.” I looked at him, feeling sorrow and guilt, knowing that it is I who is hurting him inside, when all I want is for him and I to be happy. I think over his words for a minute, the howling wind and crackling of the fire are the only noise that can be heard. And then, I carefully examine everything that our lives have been through, and try to see what path is the “right” one to choose. “Darius,” I said. “No one chooses who they fall in love with. It just happens. Some unforeseen force drives us towards someone, and we are unable to resist. We are only human. And that is human nature.” I stop and look up into his eyes; those eyes which take me in, letting me

swim through them, like an ocean of soft, smooth bliss. “You must decide,” I tell him. “Take your time, feel what is in your heart, and decide. Only then will you be truly happy.” Darius sits next to me, swimming in my eyes as, I swim in his. For a second, he seems to turn the wheels in his brain, his eyes then turn to me and in that moment, I know he has chosen me. He holds my hands in his large ones, and he opens his soft, gentle lips, about to confirm what I can already see in his eyes, when we are utterly interrupted. “You wretched whore!” Serena screamed. Darius and I, jumped and turned to the front door, to see that Serena was standing in the entrance hall. Her purple robe twisted around her, from the terrible wind, with her hood pulled back, and her long, golden hair was hanging down her back. She was fuming, and tears filled her eyes as she stared at me and then over at Darius, who now stared, horrified into the eyes of his wife.

“Serena!” He gasped. “How did you get here? How did you know?” “I followed you Darius.” She spit out. “I stalked you, like you stalk your prey on a hunt. But I already knew where you were going. My dear old brother at least gave me that.” And Serena held up a piece of parchment, that Darius recognized had Feron’s handwriting. A look of disbelief fell over Darius’ face, sending Serena over the edge. “You think I didn’t realize that something was going on!” She screamed. “You think I didn’t see the shame in your face whenever you looked upon mine. Oh I knew something was wrong, Darius. I just never believed it would have been something like this. I didn’t believe that you would hurt me like this!” “Serena!” Darius cut in. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but I am sorry. I never expected anything like this was going to happen. I never thought I would ever see Rose again. But things happen. Life isn’t all set out like I used to think it was, it’s all up to you to

make it what it is. And Serena, I have made mistakes, and I am sorry.” Darius stopped speaking. Silence filled the room, the crackling of the fire still burned, and the howling of the wind, now seemed to roar, and the house shook with every blast. Serena looked at the both of us, I looked at Darius, and Darius, looked at the floor. “I had come here tonight,” Darius began. “To end this with Rose, and to finally say goodbye.” My heart swelled and twisted inside, as if vines were squeezing the life out of me. Serena’s eyes turned to me and then back to Darius, her demeanor suddenly becoming a happier one. “But,” Darius said. My head rose and I opened my eyes. I looked at Darius and then to Serena, whose eyes quickly shot at Darius burning with rage, and she suddenly turned, threw open my front door and ran out into the night. Darius looked at me, behind his eyes he looked so confused, and then he bolted out the door after Serena. Following suite, I grabbed my emerald green robe, draped it

around me, tying it as I ran out the door, following Darius out into the woods, leaving the door wide open, open so that the whole world could see, that the secret had been released.

17 Serena Forgiveness. Why is it something that is too hard to give? Why do people find themselves trapped within it, unable to forgive and unable to be forgiven? What is it deep within the depths of our souls that we are unable to let go of the overbearing aggression that we feel and let the mistakes be forgiven? Why is it that we cannot release our unrelenting grip on our pride and pain? It is said that the heart can never be whole unless you can forgive, but how can the heart ever be full after the pain it has endured? How can I let myself forgive him, and how can I be forgiven? I finally scramble out of the woods and into Whikshire. I start to run home, but the pain in my legs hurts so much, pain from running and pain in my heart. Pain is something that I have to endure;

I’ll suffer more pain in the coming months, so I must overcome it. I force myself to run the rest of the length home, until I reach the porch and collapse on the stairs. My breathing is heavy and my heart is pounding in my chest, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, etc. I can still see the sight of them, holding hands, lost in each other’s eyes, looking so perfect together. No one ever said that about me and Darius, no one had ever come up to me, even on my wedding day and said, “You two look just perfect together.” Maybe that’s why it was so hard for me to stare at them with that very thought in my head. But they were. They are. I need to let him go. I need to let Feron go. I need to move on. I need to look after my baby. For whatever reason Feron decided to kill himself, I forgive him. I only wish that he hadn’t, so that he would still be here with me. For whatever reason that Darius fell in love with Rose so long ago, I forgive him, I only wish that he had truly loved me the way he loves Rose. I forgive Rose, although I may never get a chance to tell her, but I do. She is just a misunderstood person, whose past is a happier one than most people get, but also a darker and sadder one than most people ever have to endure. I forgive her. She was right when she said you can’t help who you fall in love with. No one can. Not me. Not Rose. Not Darius. Lastly, I forgive myself, for letting Feron leave me, for letting Darius leave, for believing that I could control my life, and Darius’.

18 Darius

I run into the house. “Serena!” I call out. I can hear rummaging upstairs, I quickly dash up the stairs and run to our bedroom. Serena is inside packing bags; clothes are all over the place, along with personal belongings except, they’re not mine. “Serena,” I said. “What are you doing?” Serena looks at me with her bright, blue eyes. She isn’t crying, she looks like I’ve never seen her before. She looks strong, like she’s not the kind of woman who needs anyone else, like a woman who can take care of her own. She looks exactly how Rose had looked, the first time I had met her, and the second time, only a few weeks ago, but now Rose needs someone, me. A small, wry smile appears on Serena’s face. “I’m leaving,” She says. “Its okay, Darius. You go be with Rose. Be happy with her and I’ll go my own way. Maybe I’ll finally leave Whikshire, there’s no family here for me anymore, right? So why stay?” “Serena,” I say. “I’m so confused. And I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to make everything right.” “Darius,” Serena said. “You don’t have to make everything right. Everything is fine, well not really, but I’ll be okay. And you and Rose, you’ll be okay. She walked over to the bed, but stopped halfway, wincing in pain. “What’s wrong?” I ask her.

“I’m fine,” She said. “Just hurt it running in the forest. I’ll be fine.” She picked up her sacks of clothes and belongings and walked out of our bedroom door into the upper hall. “Serena,” I call out. She stops, sets her sacks down, and turns to me, leaning on the railing. “I really do love you.” She smiles. “I know” She says. “And don’t worry, me and the baby will be fine.” And she began to turn back to pick up her stuff, but her sore leg gives way, and she slips. With a gasp of breath and the look of terror in her eyes, she falls against the railing, and flips over it, disappearing from view. “Serena!” I screamed. And as I ran to the railing, I could hear her body hit the floor twelve ft. below, with a loud “thunk,” immediately followed by a piercing scream. And as I reached the railing, my trembling hands grasping it, I looked down to see Serena’s dead body had landed right at Rose’s feet, who had finally arrived at my house, right in time to witness the greatest tragedy of my life. Rose was shaking horribly, and tears and began to run down her pale, white face, her mouth open in shock, with her trembling lips trying to form words, from which no sound would ever come out. She looked up at me, and I realized how much I was shaking myself, my gut had flipped upside down as well as my world, and I was increasingly becoming sick, with every second that passed. And

as Rose’s eyes began to widen in fear, I realized what it must have looked like from her point of view.

19 Rose Almost there, I thought. I was feet away from Darius’ house; I had seen him enter it right as I emerged out of the forest. The wind was whipping me everyway it possibly could as I made my way to the porch, up its wooden steps and into the open front door. The moment I entered through the door though, something large and heavy dropped in front of me, landing at my feet. I stopped abruptly, afraid something else might fall, but as I looked down at the object that had fallen, my legs nearly gave way, as my heart dropped into my gut,

becoming a hundred times heavier, as I looked at Serena’s body, her eyes still open, wide in shock, and blood trickling out her mouth. Tears formed in my eyes and I looked up at the second story landing, to see Darius, grasping the railing. For a long time, we just stood there, staring at one another, until Darius turned his head to the side a vomited. “Rose,” he said. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t push her, she tripped.” All I could do was sink to my knees, too shocked to believe anything this night had brought. “Darius,” I said in a whisper. “What are we going to do?” Darius walked down the stairs, slowly so not to trip and he walked into the kitchen. I knew exactly what he felt. I knew that he was afraid and I knew the guilt that he felt. I know, because I feel it myself, devouring my soul, consuming all my thoughts in my mind, weakening my body. Hurting my gut inside, to the point that I feel like I might just shrivel up and die. I hear Darius in the other room, fumbling around, and then sitting back down. It got very quiet, not even the

terrible storm outside could be heard. The silence pressed against my ears, leaving them both in pain. And then in the silence I heard Darius, “Rose…” he said. “I’m sorry.” The next thing I remember, is a shot blasting out into the silence in the kitchen, and the screaming that came from my lungs, I found myself crawling to the kitchen, unable to move my trembling legs, tears staining my robe and the floor, and as I entered the kitchen, I could see Darius’ gun, next to his dead body, lying in a pool of blood, coming from Darius’ head. “Noooooo!” I screamed. “Darius! No!” And my tears poured out from my soul. The villagers heard the shot from Darius’ house and my screams and cries. They came to find me wasting away on the floor, in between the two dead bodies of Serena and Darius. They questioned me, but all they could get from me were the cries, releasing from my tortured soul. Then they grabbed my arms, dragged me out of the house and threw me off the porch. They banished me. They told me I could never return. In my mind, all I could think was, “I

never want to return.” And somehow, I found the strength to return to my hollow in the woods, never to leave it again, never to return to Whikshire, and never to see my love, Darius, ever again.

20 Feron I left the letter in Serena’s drawer, so that only she would ever find it. I’m not sure how long my trip is going to take, but if it’s a few days I don’t want her worried. If Darius wasn’t going to stop this affair, I was. I knew where Rose lived and I knew her weakness, water. Whatever spell she had put Darius under; I was going to get her to remove. I’m not going to let that witch destroy this family. It was obvious what was going on in Whikshire, and it was obvious what the past showed. Rose’s mother had put a spell on Whikshire when she was alive

and it stopped with her death. And now, Rose has put Whikshire under a spell in Revenge for her mother, so it’s only plausible to do one thing. Drown her. I would save my family from Rose and I would save Whikshire from her grasp as well. I left Darius’ house and went back to mine to grab my stuff and my gun. But there was a problem, my gun wasn’t there. I must’ve left it at Darius’ house last night at dinner. So I left my house, and began walking over to Darius’. Just as I was passing the old, stone well, I heard someone behind me. “Missing something?” I turned around to find the one woman I wanted to see, Rose. “You, witch.” I said. “What are you doing here?” “I saw you last night, outside the window, watching.” Rose said. “What are you some sort of peeping tom?” She stood quite still, her hands folded behind her back, talking normally, not afraid of what I could do to her. “No,” I said. “I just had to see if what I thought was true. And it was.” I pointed at her. “You take your spell off of Darius and leave him and our family alone. And you take your spell off of Whikshire, and go back to your hut in the woods and bury yourself with your dead mother, the late Witch of Whikshire.” Rose’s emerald eyes gleamed a blazing red. The look she gave me was one of pure hatred.

“I am not a witch,” Rose said. “And neither was my mother, the villagers that murdered her will all burn in hell. And that includes yours, I bet their bodies are burnt black and their hearts are in flames right now as we speak.” “They are in Heaven and deserve to be there,” I yelled. “Your mother deserved what happened to her and so do you!” That drove Rose over the edge and as I threw my head back and laughed, she removed whatever she had been holding behind her back, and swung it at me. I just barely had time to see the barrel of my gun before it slammed into the side of my head knocking me over, where I fell, and I kept falling, till I realized I had fallen into the well, and I splashed to the bottom. There was nothing to grab and nothing to hold onto, the water was too deep, to stand in. My yells were gurgled as I struggled to keep my head up. For hours I swam trying to keep my head above, and yell, until I began to lose all my energy and my head submerged under water. All I could think of before I lost consciousness was the name of my killer, and though I thought of a dozen other terrible things to call her, a rose by any other name, is still a Rose.

21

Rose I am a witch. It is my fault that all these terrible tragedies happened. I killed Feron. It is my fault that Serena died. I am responsible for Darius’ death. I can’t cast spells, I can’t conjure things, I can’t make potions, and I have no wish to even try any of those things, but I am a witch. I am responsible for all these deaths. The blame lies with me, along with all the guilt, and shame, and sorrow. It has been one year since those deaths occurred, and I am still alive. I still go on somehow, day by day, feeling nothing, but the terrible pain in my heart. The villagers have yet, to come and drown me, as they did my mother, they have yet, to come and release me of my pain and suffering. Maybe they know I suffer, and that’s why I am still alive. But of course not, because I know, they are on their way right now, I heard the rumors that spread throughout the forest and Whikshire. The secret plans, passed from birds and

animals, to the plants and trees of the forest, who tell the flowers within my garden, who tell me. They are finally on their way this morning to come and deliver me to my mother in heaven. To save me from the terrible, wrenching pain in my heart, that everyday swells, and twists, and never ends, if anything, it grows and gets worse. But soon it will all be over, for they are coming this very morning. No longer will I be haunted by ghosts. I shall no longer be visited by wolves and foxes in the night, or black widows trespassing in my garden. The pain of love, the real evil in this world, will no longer have its clenching hold around my heart. Soon I shall once again be free. I shall see my mother, I shall see Darius. My mother once told me never to dream about the world afar, because once you dream of being in that tragic world, you can never return to the one you love.

Epilogue In the town of Whikshire, they tell a story, from events that happened long ago. About a witch who lived in a hollow of the woods, where the stream meets the glassy, black lake. They say that when she was a young girl, the witch fell in love with a boy from the town and that one day, the

young witch disappeared, never to be heard of again. Many thought she had died, others believed, she had disappeared entirely, and some believed she had simply ran away, back to where she came from. One day, as the story goes, while hunting with his best friend, the man who had once been that young boy the witch had fallen in love with, came upon a mahogany house, deep within the forest. And there he saw the witch, older like him, and he once again became transfixed with her, but the man was married. The man, entered into an affair with the witch, and placed a curse on his family. His best friend drowned himself in a well, after learning of the deceit that the man had committed against him, and his sister. For the man’s best friend’s sister, was his wife. And after his friend’s death, the witch’s lover soon began to go mad. He entered the forest everyday, to be consumed by the evil spirits that the witch had placed within, and he would return home empty handed. The witch’s lover, indeed went mad, and murdered his pregnant wife, on the witch’s orders, but then something happened that the witch hadn’t foreseen. Her lover’s guilt haunted him so much, that he shot himself, so as to save himself from the witch. The witch was found cradling his dead body, and when she refused to confess her evil deeds, she was cast out of the town, banished forever. The witch’s mother, had been a witch too, and she had cursed the small town and the

townspeople within. Terrible things happened to the townspeople, distant travelers came to cause grievances, their forest became infested with all the evil spirits that the witch had conjured, and the town slowly began to rot. Till one, morning the townspeople, ambushed the witch at her own home, judged her, condemned her, and then drowned her, thus ridding the town of it’s curse and once again it began to flourish. Then thirteen years later, the witch, Rose, cursed the town and its people again, in revenge of her mother, angered by her lover’s death. Over the year after his death, the town began to rot once more. Strange travelers returned to the town, the forest was once again full of evil spirits, corruption embedded itself throughout the town, animals disappeared, crops rotted, gardens withered away, all except one, Rose’s, whose garden was always in perfect condition. So, after finally having enough of Rose’s games and her curse, it was decided one night, that they would do the same sacrifice that they had done with her mother, and that it would happen the next day, at dawn. And the townspeople all gathered together that morning in front of the church, leaving all the children asleep in their beds, and they entered the forest, in search of Rose’s old, mahogany house. After hours of searching, they finally found the hollow of the woods, where the small stream meets the glassy, black lake. They knocked down the door of the old mahogany house, and searched it, it was empty,

they ran down to the shore of the lake, and checked the boat tied to the small dock, but it too was empty. Then they looked up to Rose’s garden. There before them, lay Rose’s dead body. They looked around to see if she had killed herself with anything, but they found no weapons; no gun, no knife, no poison, they checked the flowers and plants within the garden, but not one was poisonous, they searched for deadly insects, but found none. Rose, had just died. The townspeople were surprised, but as they had been going to kill her, their problem was fixed anyway. Some felt pity for her, and so it was decided, that they would dig up a small portion of her garden, and create a grave, in which they would bury her in. And so they did. Leaving the garden exactly how it was, except a small part of it, where Rose’s grave lay. One day, months after Rose’s death, a few of the ladies who lived in the town, decided that they would go look at Rose’s garden, for they had loved it, and wanted theirs to look just as Rose’s did. So the women went to see the garden, they were just deciding which plants they were going to pull out to take the seeds for their own gardens, when one of the women looked upon Rose’s grave, and was shocked to see a flower that had grown right in the middle of the grave. It was the most beautiful flower that the woman had every seen, in fact she had never seen it before. She grabbed her friend and pointed it out to her. Her friend’s eyes widened

in fear and she clutched her chest over her heart. “That’s a rose.” She told her friend. “Wasn’t that the witch’s name?” The two women looked at each other, fear now glazed both their eyes, and they ran back to town, to tell everyone about what they saw. And to this day, a rose blooms the bright, dark, color of blood, over the grave in the garden. It blooms everyday, all year round, never dying, never losing its color, or its beauty. Some of the townspeople believe that Rose died that day, when the vines that grew within her finally twisted and tore her heart to its breaking point, shattering Rose’s heart and killing her. Then when the townspeople laid Rose in her grave and buried her, the thorny vines, broke through her skin, and grew up until they breached the surface, and the bud bloomed staining the flower, with Rose’s blood. The rose only grows in one spot within all of Whikshire and its surrounding forest; within the witch’s garden, next to the old mahogany house, in the hollow of the woods, where the stream meets the glassy, black lake. The townspeople of Whikshire tell this story, so they will never forget the treacherous danger that awaits, within the thorns of a rose.