The Rose Garden
I've been neglecting my writing recently so I decided to do a little writing prompt exercise. This particular prompt is from Ems self-titled blog, the first time I read it, I just knew that one day I'd have to try this prompt out. Also, check her story out, it's fantastic - she's an absolutely amazing writer.
|I had absolutely no pictures|
of roses which is just shameful,
this is the closest thing - some
pretty fake pink flowers.
Write something that takes place in a rose garden. (300 words)
The scent of roses itched at her nostrils. She inhaled deeply through her nose and regretted the choice immediately, the sickly sweet scent rushed to her head and she placed two fingers against her temple in a desperate attempt to fight off an inevitable headache. They'd become an almost daily occurrence, it had worried her at first until she googled the symptoms an found that they were brought on by stress. That's why she was here, to nip the cause in the bud, stop the stress and hopefully return some sort of balance into her life if that were even possible at this point.
The heavy scuff of feet caught her attention and she looked up, her eyes connecting with a withered rose. It was pink or used to be before it had started dying, now the petals were dun and the edges crinkled like an old brown newspaper wrapped around a precious memory at the back of an attic.
"You alright?" His gruff voice asked.
"Why did you want to meet here?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I thought you didn't like roses."
"Right," he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "What is it then?"
"I don't think I can do this anymore."
"Do what?" The confusion seeped from his voice.
She closed her eyes. "This. Us."
"We just don't work, I don't think we ever did."
"I love you." He whispered.
"I thought I love you. I wanted to." She sniffed, "but we just don't, we're not right for each other, I don't think you understand me, I think you did before, as friends, but now, it's like you don't get me at all."
"So, this is all my fault." He said in disbelief.
"It's nobody's fault."
"Yeah, right." He was already walking away. "Bitch."
She didn't flinch when the word slipped from his mouth.
She just stared at the withered up rose and inhaled the heavy scent.
I went twenty-four words over the allotted word count but I couldn't cut anymore, I already had to get rid of one-hundred words. We can't ask for miracles. I want to stress that this isn't a publishable short story, it's just a simple writing exercise to keep my mind active and try and get me back into writing. It's been a shameful amount of time since I last did any writing so hopefully, this will help me.
If you didn't like this, then, don't read it again. There's nothing I can do about it. For those that did, thank you for visiting my blog and taking the time to read this post.