The Rose, by Esmé Call

The Rose, by Esmé Call

3:00 am: 

A rose bends back and forth in the violent bursts of wind that blow across a lonely field. 

A man sits up in bed and feels a rush of cold air, sending shivers down his spine. The window in his bedroom slams closed repeatedly, each sound like a gunshot in the silence of the night. The man is tired, weak, and slowly reaching the end. The storm outside is raging like a tiger strapped in a cage; about to explode. He pulls back the covers and swings his feet over the side of his bed, pulling on his faded and worn slippers. He welcomes the warmth they bring, and shuffles over to the window, pulling it closed and locking it tight. He slowly makes his way into the kitchen, and sets the tea kettle on the stove. As he leans against the counter breathing heavily, he closes his eyes. This was his third night in a row where he couldn’t sleep and had to get up and make some tea. The shrill whistle of the kettle blares in his ears, and he pours his water. As he holds the cup of hot tea, he thinks about how far he has come, and how little he has accomplished. The man is 80 years old. His wife had died earlier that year, and he has no children. His life is simple. He finishes his tea and climbs back under the covers of his bed.

9:00 am:

The rose’s first petal falls off.

The man gets out of bed for the second time that morning, this time hopefully for the rest of the day. He goes to his closet to get dressed, and discovers he cannot reach his hat shelf, for his back had become too weak. He walks down the hall to his living room and picks up yesterdays newspaper. There is an article about a girl who had won the National Spelling Bee, and she looks exactly like his niece had. When she was alive. He shakes his head and sets down the newspaper. His cabinets are almost completely empty, and he hasn’t been outside in a week. It is getting colder everyday, and everyday he is becoming more and more affected by the weather. Emotionally and physically. His lips are chapped and bleeding, partially from dehydration, and his mood becomes more pessimistic every day. As he prepares his breakfast of toast and coffee, he thinks about what he will do today. Perhaps he would call up that nice boy that sometimes brings him groceries. He walked towards the phone to call him, but his toast pops up. He butters it thoroughly and spreads on some strawberry jam. In the other room the T.V. blares. He munches on his toast thoughtfully, and when he is finished, he gets up to go call the boy.

10:30 am:

Snow falls lightly, covering the rose’s petals.

The man had called the boy and he had dropped off some groceries. When the boy had come over, he had looked around the small house and realized that the man actually had been living his life in this house for a long time. He told the man that he should should get out and do something, and hopefully, the man would listen to him. 

The man sits in his chair and thinks about what the boy had told him. He knows he will be dying soon, but he doesn’t want to. He thinks about all the things he had wants to do in life but never got around to. Ice skating was for sure his top one. Yes, he would go ice skating. 

12:00 pm:

The rose has small icicles dripping off the remaining petals.

The man opens his front door and steps out into the freezing cold, holding the skates at his side. As he steps off the front porch and walks towards the woods, he knows this is going to be something great. His journey to the frozen pond in the woods is filled with excitement. As he ducks under branches and steps over logs, he knows that this is the right decision. The pond comes into his view and he speeds up. As he slides on the skates and laces them up, his fingers shake and his breath comes in short bursts. 

12:15 pm: 

The rose feels its roots straining to stay in the ground as the wind grows stronger and stronger, but it resists with all of its willpower. 

The man takes his first step onto the ice, his skates gliding along the ice as he laughs out loud. Back at his house, the T.V. is still on. A reporter sits behind a desk on the screen, and warns people not to go out on the frozen ice, for it is too early in the winter, and the ice is not hard enough.

The man goes further out on the ice, holding his arms out to the sides to keep his balance. He hears something below him. The ice seems to be shifting. 

15 seconds.

More petals are torn away from the rose.

The man skates closer and closer to a weak spot in the ice.

10 seconds.

The wind howls, and snow swirls violently.

The man’s skate gets caught on a chink in the ice, and he loses his balance, falling onto the ice.

5 seconds.

The dirt around the rose is blown around.

The ice breaks, and the man feels freezing cold water seep into his whole body.

3 seconds.

The rose holds on.

The man claws at the edge of the hole he made, and desperately tries to pull himself out, but he is too weak.

2 seconds.

The rose gives up.

The man gives one last attempt to get out, but then realizes, he had done it. He had gone out in  the world and done something worthwhile. He was ready.

1 second.

The rose is torn up and out of the ground and blows around in the wind.

The man has reached his end. His eyes close, and as he slowly sinks, the rose, now blowing around, lands on him, and descends to the bottom of the pond.