Crimson Roses [A Collection of Short Stories] *Completed*

3.) Crimson Roses

If you would like to read my short stories, I've decided to upload them on another website. That website will also be the location of all the contests I run. http://storywrite.com/Spades

Author's Notice: Happy Good Friday, I hope you all will have a nice Easter! This would be the third story in the collection and I have to say I'm quite proud with what I've accomplished with this piece. It would mean a lot to mean if commented your thoughts and opinions, if you would vote if you feel I deserve it, and if you like my work enough to fan. I really appreciate all the support! Happy Reading.

Warning: This story 'Crimson Roses' is of the Horror genre. I caution those of you with weak hearts to beware and possibly find something else to read if dark tales aren't good for you to read. No offensive language included. 

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Crimson Roses. 

        Victor Raymond waltzed through the rusted black gate of the town cemetery. In his hand he clutched a bouquet of crimson roses. He had gone through great difficulties to obtain these fresh vines. In a town that had virtually no colour, flowers were hard to come by. Unless you had a well cared for garden lining the perimeter of your home or a green house nestled in the trees in of your backyard, your chances in finding them were slim to none. Victor had neither a garden nor a green house, and yet, he still managed to track down the vibrant flowers that he held so protectively in his grasp.

            Even without the roses, Victor Raymond was a sight to see. The man barely ever left his picturesque navy blue house on the top of the town’s highest hill. It was uncommon to see him walking the streets of town, but however it wasn’t infrequent to see him entering the cemetery. The only time of day he was spotted was mid afternoon, always walking into the burial ground. He spent the majority of his days shut away in the dark of his writing space, pounding away on the keys of his laptop. He was an author, known for his dark and gruesome creations most would see as Horror.

Because of his morbid creations, the town had labelled him as unapproachable. No one could bear to look in his steal gray eyes when he walked pass on the streets. No one could glance towards his dimly lit home without having a shiver of fear pass over them. Continuing a conversation with the cold and reserved man was a task no one had yet mastered. He spoke little and made no facial expressions.

            “Good afternoon Mr. Raymond” Mr. Arthur Wilkes – the mortician- bided with a grin.

            “Afternoon sir” Victor muttered trudging pass the pale man.

            Victor Raymond hadn’t missed a visit at the cemetery. Every afternoon, Victor made time to come visit her. He’d spend hours on end talking with a firm hand placed lovingly on the marble stone.

Mr. Wilkes was the only person who had seen the loving side of Victor. Not the cold and withdrawn side others saw. Even though Mr. Wilkes purely saw it from a distance, he knew it was still there. Victor Raymond was not the emotionless brute people considered him to be. Like every other human, he had a heart. A blackened one, but still a heart.

Victor arrived at his destination, his chosen stone. It was made of white marble and nestled underneath the oak trees coverage. The tree had been in the same position for more then a hundred years; its offered protection made certain that no wondering eye could see passed its drooping branches.

Victor dropped to his knees in the grass beside the marked grave. He gently propped the roses against the stone covering simply the date of passing. Around him, a shower of orange tinted leaves rained down from the tree above, sprinkling across his black trench coat. He made no move to swipe the fallen leaves from his shoulders, plainly settled in snugly. He folded his hands together resting them against his knees and leaned forward so he could be closer to the stone. He opened his mouth and began speaking of anything that came to his mind. From far off you couldn’t hear his voice. As his lips moved in a murmur that the breeze carried off in sullen secret.