500 x 50: Short Stories for a Fast World

This Red Rose

Marvel at this red rose. Its color so deep, so perfect in imperfection. I can't help but examine each individual petal, revelling in their nuances. Seeking meaning.

Even I, a being who has existed (not always lived, but existed) since time began has never seen anything like this red rose.

Each rose is different. Each petal upon each of those roses is different. Each color within each of those petals upon each of those roses is different. So should it be so surprising that I have not seen a color, a red, like this before? This crimson hue hums. It sings. It calls to me gently yet insistently.

This red rose unlocks feelings that, if you'd spoken to me on one of my more cynical days, I would have told you I had forgotten. Feelings like wonder, love, and desire. Time's advance has certainly dulled my heart. Sometimes, I consider whether I can still feel anything. Looking at this rose, I know I can.

Hold it. Hold the rose in your hands, but be gentle. Who knows where the color might go if you poke and prod at it too much. It may retreat into the rose.

I've seen it before. I have watched a color retreat.

It was the first sunset on the first day on the first world. My siblings and I were there. We had never seen a sunset before because, at that time, no one had. My sister looked at the sky and saw a mild tinge of green there. She loved the color so much that she decided to keep it for herself.

The color attempted to flee from her. To hide within the clouds. But my sister found it and took it from the sky. No one else has since seen that specific shade of green.

I would love to take the red from this rose. To secret it away within my treasure room, keeping it for myself. But would the rose remain as soft if not red? Would it smell as sweet?

You might be tempted to answer "Yes." But, from experience, I can tell you the rose would not remain as soft. It would not smell as sweet. The attributes of things are bound together tightly. Pull at one, and you affect them all.

For example, look to that white spot on the rose's third petal. As my gaze is drawn to the spot, to that noted absence of red, it is also drawn along the petal. My eye follows the petal's curve down to the rose's stem, its thorns.

Would I consider the curve, the stem, and the thorns if not for that white spot? If not for the contrast between the different colors, red and white? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Taking the red for myself would harm the rose and those who seek to enjoy it. I have made an oath to harm no living thing, as far as I am able. So please, enjoy this rose - perfect in its imperfection.

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