“Like roses in her garden…”

She felt the cold breeze of destitution as she unbuttoned the last glittering stud on her top. Her animus was insisting on contemplation,

“Is this how you’re suppose to feel? this brumal? right before the moment you have waited almost a year for; Is it the fear? or is it just you being too strong, too brawny to be able to thaw at a moment of fever. Is it the right thing to do Rosa? I have never seen you like this.

I’m fine, you’re fine. We’re good.

Good is comparative, Rosa.

So are you?

No, I’m subjective, I’m thought,  I’m perspective, I’m experience; I’m your true mirror.

Mirror really? Far you are.

‘Objects in mirror are closer than they appear’

Really, now you’re gonna teach me physics?

No, I’m here to help you differentiate between the right and wrong?

I thought those two were comparative too…

You will never get it back, once you lose it you know. I hope you understand that. There are times in life when you want to let go but sometimes, it’s just a matter of a wrong judgement. A wrong choice. Don’t do this to yourself.

My entire life, all I did was the ‘right’, and the result? Everything I desired is now unthinkable, Unreachable. If I was still a 13 year old I would shout out, It’s great to be good, but with time I think, it’s good to be bad. Bad again being a comparative adjective eh!

Rosa, this is not your diary that you’re writing; this is your life.

The Rosa you’re trying to ‘reach out’ died the very day she boarded that bus. I’m just a lost photo album memory of my past, a scary incomplete sketch of my future and a faint string of justice of my present. I’m a dead Rose. And my conscious, it’s better you die too.”

She drew the knife hidden beneath the strap of her bra,swayed it right across his delicate neck and plunged it right into his chest. she exhaled calmly as she watched the blood spatter on her skirt, it felt like roses in her garden during the month of March.

“March Hmmm….”, She said.

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