Stone Roses

By A. B. Swinborne

Time has fallen into silence.

I can still remember when it happened that early spring day: the way the light went out and my soul trembled. When life snatched away my bride and children. The day I lost my world.

***

I trudged through the dark forest; the last rays of sunlight spilling in through the canopy of trees. I walked with my head held high and shoulders back, my polished, black shoes glimmering as keenly as the silver sword resting by my side. It was my task as a knight to scout out the forest every few months. It wasn’t supposed to take this long. A part of me knew I should turn back and spend the evening with my family, but no. I had a job to do.

The light shifted and sank, passing away into the night. The moon lifted her head, peering down at me as I moved through the willow branches. Moss hung down like reaching hands, obscuring the way before me.

I moved nimbly through the undergrowth as a few early raindrops skittered down from the heavens. I left not a track or sound in my wake.

I’d heard that the rumors weren’t true, that the forest was no more alive than a stone. But the hanging moss and broken branches seemed to whisper otherwise.

The darkness pulled in tightly, applying a weight to my shoulders I’d never known before.

Peering up after stepping over a log, I froze.

Vibrant, newly bloomed scarlet roses, thousands of them, lined the way before me, overlaying the path and trees in their rich petals.

They looked like drops of blood on the stone. A final reminder that some life still existed here.

In the midst of it all sat a statue that rose with the elegance and beauty of a goddess. Hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her dress seemed almost to flutter in the wind.

A chill swept up my spine. For the briefest moment I considered running.

More raindrops fell across my face, washing away my smile with awe… and fear. She seemed too real. Fingers and skirt overlaid with moss, I still thought that at any moment she might have begun to dance.

Taking a step closer, I stared at her, entranced by the sorrow in her eyes and the pain in her outstretched hand.

As I stared, I dreamed that her gaze moved to me… or at least I thought I dreamed it. I stared into her face more fully. I longed to touch her, but somehow she felt sacred. All the same, I stepped forward, imagining her dress shared the same color of the roses. Scarlet, as if painted with blood.

A raindrop slid down her cheek and dripped from her chin, like a teardrop. She seemed to beckon me toward her, and my hand pulled away from the hilt of my sword.

Completely and hopelessly entranced in her eyes, I barely noticed the rose vines moved, hemming me in, pressing me closer to the statue. All I could see was her face, the haunted and terrified pain, and I felt the same emotions seize my heart.

The vines wrapped around my legs, tightened around me, but I still hardly felt or even heard them as my hand reached out to the statue and settled on her cheek.

Her arms moved so quickly I couldn’t react as she hauled me onto her podium. I cried out as she held me there. Stone began to creep up my fingers like frostbite, consuming me. Making me a part of it.

Soon the warmth seeped from my veins, numbing me to the texture of the stone. The sensation moved up my arms. I watched in horror as the statue’s dress began to turn black and the dark rock fell from her body.

I could no longer move or speak as I stood there, heart and blood slowing. The last of the stone fell from the woman’s face, and she gasped as her eyes flashed open, their brilliant green matching the rose leaves.

Only my head could still move.

The woman studied me, her fingers slipping into mine. A smile spread across her face, and she pushed toward me, kissing my lips.

I sucked in a sharp breath, the last of my blood pounding in my ears. My pulse fluttered and floundered. It soon stopped beating, and my lungs froze. Death was only a breath away.

Panic gnawed at my stagnant heart as all sensation ceased.

The woman pulled back and leaned close to my ear, whispering, “That is all I can offer you in payment. Thank you for freeing my body.”

I could no longer feel her warm breath as the stone crept over my mouth and eyes. She vanished from my sight, and I became the statue in that garden of roses.

***

Everything has fallen to ruin, though time can no longer pass before me. The world spins, and I am not there to see it or feel it. I stand as a statue, alone in a place so surrounded by mystery that no one dares enter. I do not know who I released, whose lips kissed mine before I passed.

All I know is that I will never be free, nor could I ever stand being so. The world will have changed in a thousand ways, and I do not believe I could bear seeing the graves of my bride and children.

My world is gone. I only wish I could’ve died with it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A. B. Swinborne is a young author, who has been published on Kingdom Pen and posts weekly on her blog. She has also written several full length stories such as the freebie for her email list, a historical fiction about a Jewish boy right before World War 1. Her stories are focused on God and His glory. When she’s not writing, Abigail can be found enjoying a book or tending to her garden.

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Author Website