A Scent of Roses
Emilie stood outside in their tiny suburban garden, beside the neatly tended roses and lilies carefully placed behind a small white fence as else they might escape. Emilie looked at the beautiful flowers, how they waved lightly in the summer breeze, almost like they were waving Emilie over towards them. Maybe to tell her a secret, perhaps even a kiss? Emilie looked at them, the roses in particular, as if to judge their sincerity, for she had been hurt before. Ah yes, the flowers, however precious they might seem, could be treacherous. She knew too well that a few of them, some of them, craved blood.
Luckily, they were placed securely behind the fence, the lilies and treacherous roses alike, so that one could enjoy them from a distance, but only from a distance. Emilie’s mother had forbid her to touch them, ever since the first time Emilie had been deceived by these beautiful creations. It had taught her a valuable lesson, even though she had to pay for it in blood. Still, Emilie gazed at the earthly tapestry of colors with a deep, heartfelt desire, a desire that lured her closer and closer. Soon she found herself standing in front of the tiny white fence, separating her from the waving sirens. She stared at them in wary wonder with her hands behind her back. The lilies stood so silent and delicate among the roses, which in turn had entangled them in a protective manner with thorns. She felt her hand slowly rising from the safety of her back, carefully and yet steadfast going towards the lilies, wanting only to caress them for a brief moment, feeling their purple silk-soft leaves, to draw in their intoxicating bouquet. As her hand drew ever closer, Emilie could almost reach the forbidden lily, but as her fingers were only milliliters from the fragile leaves, she felt the sting. Red drops landed on the lily’s leaves, running down the stalk towards the ground, leavings a bloody trail and hurtful reminder. A small, surprised scream escaped Emilie’s lips as she quickly drew her hand back, taking the thorn with her. She looked almost spellbound at her finger, still holding the thorn in place while a small stream of blood dripped down on her shoe, she pulled the thorn out and threw it furiously back at the roses. Yet again Emilie had been deceived, by the treacherous roses no less.
Emilie could hear her mother’s voice from inside the house as she made her way out in the garden, only to find Emilie standing still with her little finger dripping and her eyes tearing. The mother picked the crying child up, while scolding her for not heeding her warning. She then sat course for the little medicine cabin inside the house, which could surely patch little Emilie right up. As Emilie was carried towards the house, she looked over her mother’s shoulders and looked over at the garden flowers, the garden roses. She sent them a vigilant stare, ensuring them it wouldn’t be their last encounter, and she looked at the lilies, standing all silent and precious but not so innocent. Emilie could already feel her heart being filled with the same old desire she had felt so many times before, which defied her common sense and caution. Emilie would surely try again tomorrow and the day after that. She would continue reaching for the small lilies despite the roses and their damningly hurtful thorns. For each time Emilie reached, each time she was stung, she felt the lily coming closer and the rose becoming distant. Losing their effect as the blood stream became smaller and the pain slowly faded, leaving more scars and rougher skin, as Emilie became accustomed to the sight of blood. Each time reducing her fear of the rose and its sting, gradually but steadily making it more and more secluded.
Until the day she would hardly feel it...
Hardly feel it at all...
