A Red Rose Dies

By Ian Leifer

The dim and gloomy light permeated the shadowy depths of the room. The fixture hung motionless from the ceiling. Motionless- like the moment before we die. We know the inevitable moment after death has arrived. We can feel it. The forgotten memories of our past are revealed to us, spreading warmth and happiness throughout ourselves; permeating the shadowy depths of our souls.

What is death? Death is the termination of life. Death is the cessation of a being's existence in the physical world.

Timothy Keller didn't know he was about to die. Tim sat immobile on his black leather couch. His dilated eyes stared fixedly at the flickering light above him. His mouth was slightly parted and his shallow breaths dried the saliva from his chapped lips. Tim's chest rose slowly with each intake of oxygen, and dropped heavily with each exhalation. His left arm lay quietly on the armrest. The cigarette in his hand sent whispering streams of smoke toward the still light above, but left gray ashes strewn across his hand below. Fear flashed across his eyes; his breath paused, and then continued. His eyes filled with reminiscence. As he pondered about former accomplishments, his breath paused.

The light flickered out.

The smoke ceased its climb.

Tranquility drifted into the room. Maybe it came through the open window and settled in unnoticed. It hung there like a mask, hiding the truth of this now desolate, this bare, this naked place. It hid the loneliness. Even if only for an instant, it hid the loneliness.

It was still dark outside when Jake Keller woke up. He slowly turned his body over, readjusting his pillow and laying his face down upon it. He closed his eyes. Often sounds we hear as we lay in bed are magnified- tonight there was no sound. Jake's resting mind recognized the lack of noise and prevented him from sleeping. As his hot breath ricocheted from his pillow to his face, he decided to get up. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, they dangled heavily above the wooden floor. Slowly he placed his bare feet on the smooth pine surface. He shuffled along through the dark, putting his hands out in front of him to monitor his journey through the shadows.

He slipped through his bedroom door. Opening it further would produce an irritating creak from the door's old hinges. He didn't want to wake his father. That's why he was so cautious. That's why he was so quiet and careful about the placement of his feet. It would disturb the peace. It would wake his father.

Jake stumbled through the living room, trying to make his way through the clutter that littered the ground to the light switch on the opposite wall. Attempting to lift the switch, Jake realized that it had already been flipped. Sighing and looking into the dark at the place where he assumed the light must be, he moved to the window and slid it open a couple of inches more than it already was. It was a relief for him to feel the cool autumn air breathe down his neck. It calmed him. His hands rested on the sill, rapping gently against the wood. He stared out at the quiet city street. He wondered why it wasn't basking in the pale orange glow that the looming lights above usually cast. The dark trees that lined up along the sidewalk swayed in the soft breeze. Their oval leaves brushed against each other, rustling in the wind.

Jake turned around, his eyes went wide with terror as he saw a body sitting on the couch. He became rigid and still, terrified to move. Jake's expression softened, he realized it was only his father.
"Damn it Dad! What are you doing in the dark like this? It must be 4 in the morning!" Jake waited for a response, but heard nothing "Alright, you're starting to scare me. Please just cut it out, ok? Dad?"

A car passed by. How would the people inside the car react if they knew that a 17 year old boy in the one story house to their left had just found his father dead? How would they react if they knew that a 17 year old boy inside was incessantly flipping a light switch on and off, trying to see what had happened to the only person in his life that cared about him? Maybe they would rush inside, coming to the boy's aid. Maybe they'd embrace him, and tell him not to worry. Maybe they'd tell him that everything was going to be ok. Maybe… but they wouldn't. They passed by, worried only by the task at hand, driving. They worried only about the road in front of them.

Jake Keller sat alone in the dark, crying and thinking. His tears streamed down his face to the corner of his lips, and then continued their journey to his chin, where they fell to their ultimate demise. They trickled through the air, one by one, sparkling as they fell. They splashed on the hard wooden floor; a tidal wave of emotions. Jake Keller sat alone in the dark, waiting for sunrise. But this morning, the sun didn't penetrate the oval leaves. This morning, it hid behind them.

Jake sat in the dark, splayed across the couch. His black tie laid disheveled on his chest, wrinkled and stained. His eyes were bloodshot. Tears could no longer encompass the entirety of his emotions. Jake's father was laying on a cold slab of steel in a morgue; indifferent from the dozens of other bodies around him.

Jake grabbed the yellow notepad from the coffee table in front of him, took a pen, and started to write:

Dear God,

I write to you because there's no one else to write to. You stole him from me. You stole the one person I loved. The one thing that I cherished above all others was my relationship with him, and YOU God… YOU destroyed it. I will be gone and forgotten. No one will care to look for me. No one will even know I'm gone. And no, I'm not going to kill myself. But you knew that, didn't you?

I'm running. I don't know where to or why, but I need to go. There is nothing left in THIS place. Nothing but thoughts of death and depression.

I am just a red rose. The water in my vase is nearly gone. The sun no longer shines. I am all alone.

Dear God… Why me? Why me? What crime have I done to deserve the punishment I've received? My home is a battlefield now. My life is a war. I am not yet ready to surrender.

A heart breaks but shatters not,

For it has hope before it rots.

Before it withers, dying, death,

It gasps for love with its last breaths.

Belief fills the crimson sea,

Take away the misery.

Take the misery away,

So I can die by end of day.

The hope that shines its bright warm light,

Leaves the broken heart, now dark night.

A shadow passes overhead.

As in terror and in pain,

The heart sees that light of hope and love,

Will never shine again.

You see God, I'm just a rose. And I'm dying of thirst.

Jake Keller

Jake stood up. He looked around him, trying to memorize everything good. Trying to find a way to see something pleasant. But nothing was joyful for him anymore. It was all dark now. Slowly Jake walked outside. He pulled the heavy door behind him. This was it. This was the point of no return. Without looking behind him, he placed one foot in front of the next and began walking. At first slowly, but then he picked up the pace. Then he started running. Rigid concrete pounding underneath his feet, Jake never looked back. He kept himself focused on the road ahead. He kept himself focused on the journey that awaited him.

Trees passed by him as he ran. Trees. Their oval leaves waved in the wind. They brushed against each other; whispering about something that people could never understand. They're so full of life. They're so full of potential. And when the construction people come and destroy them, all growth stops. All potential ceases.

Distances in New York City are measured in blocks. Blocks. The complex grid of pavement runs throughout the city. They create structure. They create control. Then the construction people come and repave them, destroying more trees.

Jake ran many blocks. Heart pounding, throat hurting, coughing, sputtering, Jake staggered down an alley as night fell upon him. He pressed his face against the brick wall on his left, too exhausted to lift his arm. The coldness of the stone flooded Jake's sweaty cheek. His tangled hair fell in front of his eyes, dripping with sweat.

No longer could Jake bear the burden of his own weight. His knees collapsed and he fell sideways onto the damp and cracked cement. A cushion of dead roses lay before him.

And just before he passed out, Jake had an epiphany that he would never remember. And just before he passed out, Jake said knowingly, "Roses."

Shadows covered Jake like a blanket when he woke later that night. He shook them off as he stood up into the bright red and blue neon lights of the florist shop across the street. Jake slowly took in his surroundings. A dead end alleyway with a dumpster in the back corner. Old papers and flower petals scattered the ground around him. A fire escape climbed the wall to his left.

This would be his home. This would be his dwelling place, his residence, his abode. The world was his penitentiary, and this was his cell.

Jake walked to the street. He looked up the road. He looked down it. Empty. Walking nowhere in particular, Jake observed everything.

Trees. He passed under the leering branches. A park. Knees weak once more, Jake found a bench and sat. The grass around him had been mowed recently. The flowers in a small fenced in area to his left and right stood in rows, neatly.

"Oh bench," Jake said, "You're so cold. The construction people made you, didn't they? They took you from your home, and put you here. Iron and wood. What is your purpose?

Oh grass. You aren't real either. You are the artificial sod of some other place. They took you from your home, didn't they? Constantly stepped on. Constantly crushed. What is your purpose?

Oh roses. You stand there. You are false. What is your purpose?"

The sun beat down hard on Jake, warming him, bathing him in a snug glow of light. Its rays searched for darkness. They explored the narrow cracks and crevices of the city. The rays wandered in covering every uncovered place, wrapping each with a cozy shield of golden radiance. The sun's light covered Jake like a blanket. Jake stared up from his bed of roses and torn magazine covers at the bright morning star above him. What a sight for Jake. The sun shone vividly, gleaming through the pain. It penetrated the suffering. The unsteady plodding of a man's feet echoed off the alley walls. Jake sat up to see an old man walking towards him with a paper bag in hand,

"What the Hell are you doing here, kid? Get out. This is my home. Go find some other place you scrawny brat. Go!" the man shouted at Jake.

But Jake didn't move.
"No," Jake replied, "I'm here now. I am here now. Whether you like it or not, whether you despise me, hate me, loathe me for it or not. I am here now." The old man stared at Jake in disbelief. See, this wasn't how it worked on the street. And then he noticed Jake's clothing.

"A suit? Nice shoes?", the old man wondered. He became puzzled. Something wasn't right here. Something wasn't normal, "Why are you here? Where are you from?"

"Please, just let me stay. Please, don't make me leave."

The old man surveyed Jake carefully before saying, "Yeah, ok kid. You got it. You can stay here. But you aren't getting any of my food. I'll show you the ropes, but after that you're on your own. I can't sacrifice my own needs for yours. Got it?" the old man said.

"Yeah, I got it." Jake answered.

"Ok, good. I'm Gary. Lord of garbage. Master of the streets. Whatever you want to call me, call me. I don't care." the old man said while extending a filthy, trash covered hand to Jake. Jake reached out hesitantly and shook it,

"I'm Jake."

"I used to know a Jake. But that was a long time ago."

For the next few days, Gary showed Jake "the ropes". He showed Jake how to survive on the street.

"Alright," Gary said, "I'm gonna head on up to Main and try to get a buck or two from there. I'll see you later."

"Ok," Jake answered. Jake turned and walked towards the alley. He entered the dark, dead-end alleyway. A rustling in the garbage dumpster caused him to jump. A collarless golden retriever jumped out, landing softly on Jake's bed of roses. The rustling stopped. A lone dog in the middle of the city. It came to Jake with its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth. Jake bent down and stroked the dog's knotted coat. He placed his hand by the dog's neck, and then pushed towards the other end. It was so soothing for both Jake and the dog. But then something from the dog's fur lashed out and slashed at Jake, cutting him. He quickly turned his palm over to reveal a gash that stretched from one side of his hand to the other. Blood seeped out, instantaneously cleaning and healing his wound. Jake looked over the dog's coat. A thorn? He picked the weapon out of the matted hair and tossed it aside. Just a thorn. Suddenly as if spooked by some invisible force, the dog jetted out of the alleyway. Jogging after it, Jake called for the dog to come back. But it kept going. It kept running. And then time stopped, for the dog leapt into the street.

The oval leaves of nearby trees stood still, motionless. For this instant, they halted their photosynthesis. For this instant, they stopped to watch.

Inevitable happenings. Inevitable death. Jake's outstretched arm stood still as he watched in horror as the energetic dog became a still carcass. Just another victim of the street. Just another victim of life. A cloud passed in front of the sun. Jake wasn't sad about the dog, though. Because Jake had Gary, and Gary had Jake. And as time passed, they realized just how valuable their relationship was. The cloud moved away from the sun and it radiated throughout once again.

"Hey Jake, come give me some help with this." Gary said while dragging a couple of black garbage bags behind him. Jake stood up and came to meet him by the end of the alley. He easily lifted the bags and held them against his shoulders. Gary looked at the display of strength in awe. It had been a very long time since he'd been able to do that. He was glad to have Jake. He realized how lonely he had been with no one to talk to but himself. How lonely he had been with no one to hear him but himself. He appreciated Jake, and Jake appreciated him. Jake needed someone now more than ever.
"Happy Tuesday!" Gary said and pointed to the bags. Jake looked from the bags to Gary. Gary motioned for him to open them. Jake tore into the bags excitedly. Horse blankets! Oh what a gorgeous site! Skin-irritating, torn, dirty horse blankets! Appreciation- expressions of gratitude. We, as human beings, are ridiculously ungrateful. It's hard to comprehend what we take for granted. We expect food on the table three times a day. We expect a made bed to climb into. We expect a heated house during the winter time, and air conditioning during the summer. But Jake and Gary were content with a few horse blankets to keep them warm during the coming winter.

The two wrapped themselves in their blankets and pulled out a torn cardboard chessboard that Gary had found in the garbage. They laughed and talked through the night.

Jake sat on his bench in the park. His hot breath formed clouds. They streamed towards the star-filled night sky. The clouds ascended into the atmosphere.

"Oh bench," Jake said, "You are here to support me. You hold me up when I need you. You carry me when I cannot stand on my own.

Oh grass. You hold the soil together. You keep the ground beneath my feet from washing away when the rain falls.

Oh roses. As you stretch toward the sky, in search of light, you shed hope into my life. You roses, you are my life."

Back in the alley, Gary was talking to himself. Mainly, he was complaining because his blanket had fallen into a puddle. He went behind the dumpster and rummaged through everything that he had hidden there over the years until he found another blanket. As he stood back from the dumpster, a shadow climbed the walls around him. The darkness invaded his home, engulfing it. "Jake?" Gary asked. But Gary knew that it wasn't Jake. He wouldn't have had to ask if it was.

Why do people rob each other? What gives them the impulse, the drive, the uncontrollable urge to steal from others? Because thieves recognize the weakness in wealthy people.

It was obvious that Gary wasn't wealthy. The man wasn't a thief. Slowly, the shadow moved towards him.

"Please don't. Please leave me alone. Please…"

Whistling and singing, Jake walked home. The lights of New York reflected brightly in Jake's eyes. He left the park, he passed the flower shop, he entered his lovely dwelling-place.

Then he felt it. Dread. Something was wrong. Everything was still. Everything was quiet. Motionless, like the moment before we die. The sensation suffocated him.

"GARY!" Jake shouted. There Gary lay, on a bed of roses underneath the fire escape. A stream of water dripping down on him from the gutter above. Blood poured from Gary's face. His eyes were half closed, his chest rose with shallow breaths.

"Jake." Gary said, "I'm so sorry, Jake."

"Just rest. Just be still. I'm gonna get you some help Gary, don't worry. You're gonna be ok, I promise. Don't worry," But Gary didn't worry. Gary had accepted his fate. Jake had not. He kept telling himself that Gary would be ok. Trying to convince himself.

"Oh, the twisted lives we lead," Gary said hoarsely, breathlessly, "We refuse to accept the uncontrollable. We refuse to accept the inescapable. But you see, Jake, death is unrelenting."

"But I need you Gary. I need you." The city lights drained from Jake's eyes as tears fell from his face.

"You're wrong. Look at the rose petals, Jake," Gary whispered softly. He lifted his hand as high as he could. Red petals stuck out from between his fingers at odd angles. Opening his calloused hands, the soft rose leaves lifted gently with the wind. They stretched toward the sky, yearning for light. "Tended and cared for, nurtured, they grow tall and beautiful. They attract all that behold them with their eyes. And they entrance all that behold them with their aroma. Their red petals are soft and comforting to touch. How can such a beautiful creature die? How can something so graceful and full of potential die? Death is the cessation of a being's physical existence in this world. But you see, Jake? Look as the petals spread throughout the world. LOOK! Watch as they produce from within themselves, a new rose, a new life. Something good is born.

I know you don't want to hear it Jake. I know you don't want to accept it, but you must. I am going to die. And I beg from you, as my last wish, that you don't mourn my death. Celebrate my life. Celebrate me."

As the petals swirled gently in the breeze, Gary closed his eyes. Another victim of life. The petals fell, but the lights from the street remained. Jake didn't cry anymore. He cupped his hands and let the water from above fill them. He threw the water against his face: renewal, rebirth, potential.

Without looking back, Jake began walking. He left the alley and peered down the street. He looked towards the horizon, where the first golden rays licked the sky. Placing one foot in front of the next, he began his journey. He started going home.

As he ran, Jake passed trees. Their oval leaves brushed together as they stretched, waking from their sleep. They whispered to each other softly. They whispered to each other knowingly.

A car passed by Jake as he ran. How would the people inside react if they knew? What would they do?

Fragments of pain and suffering fell from Jake as his feet landed on the hard ground. They fell to the ground, shattered, broken, splintering into nothingness. The sun beat down hard on Jake, warming him; bathing him in a snug glow of light. Jake inhaled deeply, nearly able to taste a familiar scent. Smiling to himself Jake began,

"Oh roses…"