The roses were the only thing that would calm him nowadays, the roses in their simplicity, curving up towards the center of themselves and blooming outwards, holding his glance for hours on end. He had stayed that way for at least three days, hysterical. He finally awoke from his apprehensive haze and found something to eat. The landscape he was surrounded by was ever-changing, one minute it was peaceful, the next it was deadly and scorched the eye with its corruption.
Headless animals ran loose at times like this, biting at thin air with teeth they did not possess, spilling blood in showers over the ground, ripping each other to pieces and lying there to rot and pollute more. But at times when it was peaceful, birds would sing and butterflies would land in his hands. It could last days like this.
Suddenly it would change, the butterflies, changing into malformed limbs or the birds dying or shriveling into a ball of bloody bones, their song falling jaggedly, collecting in a group of screams and harmonious notes of agony.
This was his life he realized one day, this was God's sick way of showing him what his life was from afar, ever changing. He was being punished. He learned to hate both sides of his life. But that was five years ago, before he committed suicide, no before he had hit the concrete crushing close to every bone in his body. And the realization came, that he was observing his life and when that realization came he no longer wanted it, he could plead in front of God himself, but it would never work. Forced to forget everything and start all over, shaking in front of the roses and watching his life pass by again, until the realization came again and he was forced to start over for another eternity.
This was his punishment for despising his gift of life.
© 2000 Kevin O'Leary, all rights reserved
appears here by permission
I came up with the plot while I was writing this, as I do most of the time.