All Roses must die

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All Roses must die

 

Rose was beautiful. I know that the word 'beautiful' gets thrown around a lot – I get it, it's overused. But sometimes you just have to use those clichés, no matter how much you'd hate to. That's just another reason why I wished there was a new word for 'beautiful'.

Rose was my fiancée. Well, she still is just that for at least another ten minutes. After that, however, she was going to be my wife. My beautiful Mrs. Stafford. And God, that smile on her face... It looked like it lit up the whole church as she walked down that aisle next to her father. When Rose and her father stopped in front of me, he whispered "take good care of her." I nodded at him, smiling.

For the following minutes, everything seemed to be a total blur for me. The priest was saying his prayers, doing his things. All I could focus on, however, was the beautiful, precious human being in front of me. I snapped back to reality, when the priest turned to us, starting to ask the crucial question, which would make Rose my wife.

"Do you, Rosalie Anna Smith, take this man, Isaac Jacob Stafford, to be your lawfully wedded husband..." I looked at the priest. Nobody ever called her Rose by her real name, so hearing the priest call her Rosalie sounded more than just weird.

"...as you both shall live?" I turned back to Rose, waiting for her to say those two words. But when my eyes reached her face, it wasn't Rose looking back at me... It was a monster. My heart started to race and I couldn't breathe properly. I stumbled back in horror, and almost instantly realized it WAS Rose after all. My beautiful Rose, covered in blood. I was in shock – nothing made sense to me. Was she shot? Stabbed? What on Earth had happened? Why was my wife's face covered in blood? Why were her wrists soaked in a dark red liquid...?

 She flew closer to me. That's right, FLEW. It felt like my heart wanted to run away, and so did I. Rose opened her palm right in front of my eyes, revealing four, maybe five, razor blades. I looked back up at her face, and in that moment she started laughing a deep, dark laughter.

"LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO ME!" she shouted in an almost demon-like voice. "LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!!"

I shook my head. This wasn't happening, it couldn't have been happening. Rose flew even closer to me, so that her face was only an inch away from mine.

"And now," she said, cracking a sarcastic, evil-looking smile," it's time for revenge." I stared at her in horror, as she raised her hand, ready to slice my throat with the blades – or God knows what else. Her hand was coming down now – it was like a slow-motion scene from a movie. Down. Down. Closer...

My phone rang. It was Rose. Again. I had lost count already, but I believe this was her seventh phone call to me in the past four days. Don't bother wondering why I still keep answering – I honestly don't know the answer myself, either. But I do know why she keeps calling me. That's because I called off the wedding and broke up with her five days ago. Why? I simply couldn't take it anymore – her self-harming, that is. Well, that's the short version of what happened, really. The version I tell people to keep them from asking me more questions. I mean, it's understandable that they don't want to talk to me anymore after hearing how cruel I was. However, there's more to it than just that. I met Rose back in eighth grade, when we were 14. Now we are 26. In other words, our story lasted for twelve years. That's why I prefer the shorter version and besides, the ones who are worthy of knowing the whole story already know it.

I answered the phone.

"What do you want now?" I asked in a cold tone of voice. I heard a silent sobbing on the other end. "Why did you call me, Rose?"

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