The Wooden Rose

Day was dafting. Night was near. Time was not good, not good at all. I crawled on my elbows to hide behind a large terra cotta colored boulder. My shotgun was dragging along with me, its strap creating a dangerous rash on the right side of my neck.
“Lasp behind soldier, Lasp behind!” a low voice crackled through the walkie-talkie in my pocket. It was speaking in code-though it had proved not to be too efficient. When they said ‘Lasp Behind.’ they meant for me to fall back, gather ammunition, and return to the war, to win…or die trying.
A shadow shifted from a spiky bush across from me.
“That’s a negative.” I denied the order. If an enemy was across from me, I wasn’t going to lose the moment.
The crackled from the Walkie-Talkie silenced.
I dragged my body slightly further along the dusty sand, and lifted my shotgun into position. With a jaunty shake of my head, I nodded my helmet into position, and took a deep breath. Shifting the gun slightly into a groove in the rock, I pulled the trigger. Boom. Boom Boom. The thundering sound of eleven bullets echoed around the deserted area.
The shadow around the bush froze, and fell slowly to the floor. A dust cloud lifted around the bush, and I noticed the soldier’s head was peering from the side of the spiky leaves. I pulled for another bullet- precaution, not the sadistic joy of overkill.
Feeling as hollow as the inside of my gun, I walked over to the motionless body.
My tears didn’t run. Not anymore. I knew I had to do this. I bent near him, and ran my fingers over his fresh blood, running crimson over the dull green of his military suit. I stared for a long time at the red liquid on my fingers, the carefully rubbed it on the crusty cross dangling from my neck.
“I pray to lord-may your soul rest in peace.”
As I stood up, I noticed the crinkling rustle of paper. I glanced down. This soldier’s pocket was open, and the corner of a paper was flapping sharply in the hot wind.
Gingerly, I grabbed the thick, smooth paper between my thumb and forefinger. Slowly, holding my breath at a rather shocking feeling of anxiety, I tugged the paper out.
A page. White, and blank, stared up at me. I laughed at my self, the hollow noise ringing in the deserts.
(I now realize, how foolish I was-not having turned the paper over, but I realize that was the path I took, to avoid truth.)
The wind blew sharply again, a corner of the paper, rolling in the wind, revealing-color. My laughter stopped short.
With my two coarse hands, I gripped the paper, and turned it. Slowly. Carefully.
A photograph.
My throat choked up, and my heart swelled. Or shrunk. I couldn’t tell, but I did know, the feeling, was horrible. It was guilt…and sorrow. The guilt was caused by the sorrow, and the sorrow, by the guilt.
The sorrow was there for the mother and son in front of me, the ghost of their presence captured in a 6 by 8 frame.
I stared coldly at the young brown eyed lady, sporting a thin, dark blue t-shirt, which bulged abnormally around her belly, and at the blond baby boy she held in her arms.
My heart throbbed again. The speed of my blinks began to grow rapid.
“Aaugh…God” I cursed, wiping the tears streaming down my face. Two sloppy tears splattered the curled picture.
That’s when I noticed the writing. In neat writing, good as type, it read:
Stanley, and Ginny ‘Ginerva’ LaStef
I looked down at the soldier lying at my feet. In golden thread, the name Justin LaStef was stitched in his military suit, near his chest.
The raindrop tears grew into a thunderstorm.
“Great God!” I groaned. “I ruined a family. Another family….” I buried my face in my hands. “No…NO” I bellowed.
The afterlife wasn’t looking too bright for me.
“Soldier. Listen, I need you to fall back. Fall back y’hear?” This time, General Armstrong was ordering me personally.
I nodded. Then, realizing that the general wouldn’t see this movement of mine, I pressed the button in the side of the Walkie-Talkie, and spoke, my voice as cracked as the signal. “That’s…..a positive?” I said, my mind wiped numb for everything, except the murder written by my hands.


~*~
“Damien.” Someone tugged on the other side of my bag. I turned around, and smiled.
“Roma. I need you to let go of my bag dear!” Roma pulled up a faulty pout, and shook her head, her black hair tossing about.
“No.” She whined in a childish voice. I chuckled.
“I’m not going to war yet Roma.” She let go of the bag with a silent gasp, a shocked look now expanded over her face.
Horror shook me. “Roma!” I dropped my bag, and jumped to her side. I grasped her by the shoulders, and shook her. “Roma!” I whispered, looking down on her face. Her big, light brown eyes were now swimming with tears, and her pink lips were trembling like a leaf in a windstorm.
“I almost forgot.” She whispered, her voice quaking. She sniffled, and wiped her tears away. Her hands trembled at the collar of my shirt, as she smoothed it out, and pushed me slightly away from her, to get a full look at me. She nodded, and smiled a small smile, that left my heart faltering.
I smiled, and pulled her into a hug, pressing my cheek against the top of her head.
“I won’t be gone long.” I promised her, holding her at arms length. “I promise you.” She nodded understandingly. I smiled, and bade her a goodbye…
“Damien…Damien!” A voice echoed somewhere between the present, and the past, and then I realized where I was.
My head jerked upwards, and hit the metal of a jeep. My mate Camden Moone sat across me, shaking my knee.
I groaned, and rubbed the back of my head, glaring through half-closed eyes at my friend.
“We’re being transferred to the Second Base. We’ve got a hostage situation going on there.”
“Our side, or…”
Camden looked up grimly. “We’re missing five soldiers, two of which were shot at 5:10.”
I looked at Camden quizzically. “Soldiers attempted a rescue.” He explained.
I winced, and my hand jumped to the cross. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Same.” Camden said shortly, pulling out a paper from his pocket. I was fleetingly reminded of Justin LaStef. Except, Camden looked nothing like LaStef.
Camden had brown short cut hair, like the rest of us, and blue eyes, big as headlights.
“We’re supposed to take hostages?” I asked naively.
All the soldiers around me shot odd looks at me. “Oh.” I mumbled, now realizing that we had to do the same as the soldiers at Second Base-try to retrieve the hostages.
“Honestly Damien.” Camden sighed. I saw a smirk play across his face.
I groaned at my foolishness, and closed my eyes to rest my head against my seat. “How long until we get there?”
“Two days.” Camden said, following my lead.
“That’s a long time.” I whispered.
Camden nodded. “It’s a long mission. We better rest up as much as we can, but some of us have already started…” he said slyly, obviously referring to me. I grinned sheepishly, and scooted my head further back.
“That means, some of us will be able to rescue more than others.”
With that, I dozed back to sleep.

~*~
I wandered the streets of London, trying to find the perfect gift for Roma. I wished for her to have something to remember me by when I went to war. I passed a small shop, which looked like it was just barely getting by. ‘The Knowing Of Gone’ it was called. For some reason, I was attracted to its homeliness. As I pushed open the door-and it opened rather easily the low jingle of chimes announced my arrival. The room was dusty, and the golden glow of light, which dappled the room, shone upon the flying particles around an old pink chair.
“A story.” I mumbled to myself as I went to feel the thin cloth of the pink couch, trying to imagine its story, or the one of its owner. After a while, I began to feel rather alone, and I must admit, a smite bit like a trespasser.
“Hello.” I called out; surprised at how timid my voice sounded when it bounced around the walls. “Hello?”
A shuffling noise came from behind a small counter. I feel a bit ashamed admitting to this, but I did, at the moment, feel-what is it called? Scared out of my wits.
“Oh dear! Children! Growing more and more impatient these days, but what can I do?” A low huff of breath and-“I’m coming deary!” From behind the counter, a stout old lady hobbled out. Thin grey hair curled around her head, and her deep grey eyes twinkled with childhood. She resembled the ideal grandmother, what with the extreme touch of a light pink shawl wrapped about her.
“How may I help you?” she asked, her arms folded across her chest, her head cocked to one side.
“Uh…” I began. My eyes darting to the many corners of the room. “I need something to give to my fiancé. While I’m gone-for her to remember me by.” I said awkwardly.
“War?” she asked bluntly.
I nodded.
She sighed as if in despair, and vanished again behind the counter.
She came back with three boxes. “Take a look at these.” She said, setting them out separately on the counter. I walked over, and peered into the boxes.
The old lady hustled me back, keeping my peering gaze away. She tenderly picked up a mirror. “This is Aphrodite’s mirror.” I looked at her. She tossed her head. “Well, that’s what I call it anyways.”
She handed it to me gingerly. “If you look into it, and long with your heart to see anyone you love, you will.” I looked at her with the gaze of a non-believer.
“Well test it if you must!” She said raged. I looked into the mirror, and to my surprise, I saw the clearest image of Roma, bustling about the kitchen preparing my favorite, dumplings with spicy apple broth. It was as if she were right behind me.
When I looked away from the mirror, I noticed the old lady was grinning wildly at me, and wagging her eyebrows. “Whaddi tell’ya?”
I smiled, and set the mirror down. “No, I don’t want her to look in, and find me shooting at some one. It would overwhelm her!”
The old lady nodded knowingly, and put the mirror away. “How about this?” She pulled a small silver ring from the second box. It had a heart shaped red gem on it. “If you long to see someone, then this ring will pull up the exact form of them. Full form.” She added for emphasis.
I held the ring in my hands, and thought despairingly of my sister, and there in the room stood her full form, smiling and waving at me, her light brown hair curling at her shoulders.
I smiled at the lady. “Brilliant!” I praised her. “But I think it would make her more desperate for me to come back home. I don’t want to arouse that within her. Longing you know?”
The lady chuckled in response, and set the ring away. “Well this is the last memory gift I have.”
Out of the long, and slender box, the lady pulled out the most delicate looking rose. “You won’t be able to test it dear, but you have my word for its magic.”
“What does it do?” I asked, lost in the beauty of the flower.
“It warns you, or rather…informs you, when some one you know is…gone. Passed on rather.” My heart suddenly felt heavy.
“How do you know?” I asked her.
She smiled sadly at me, and bent into the drawer of the counter. She pulled out a rose-exactly like the beautiful red beauty in my hands, except for the fact, that it was wood. “My son.” She said, stroking the petals of the rose. “War.” She chuckled bitterly.
She turned her thoughts to me once again. “When someone you love is dead, the living rose turns wood. It doesn’t need watering, because it doesn’t die, until the owner’s own does, if you know what I mean…”
I nodded. “I’ll…. I’ll take it.”
The lady nodded, and began packing up the rose.
That night, I gave the rose to Roma, and told her about it’s magic.
“I’ll put it here.” She had said, pointing at the thin crystal vase in out cabinet. “But promise me, that you’ll never let this rose turn wood?”
I smiled. “I promise.” And in the back of my mind, I thought if I was really going to be able to fulfill this promise.
~*~
The jeep stopped in the middle of nowhere. A dull green tent was set up, it’s cloth swaying slightly in the dry, and heated wind. I shaded my eyes with my hands, protecting myself for the light of the sun, and the bits of sand that were threatening rather, sensitive eyes. All the soldiers remained seated in the jeep for a split second, as if they were reluctant to leave the safety of the jeep. The driver got out of the jeep, and handed each of the soldiers a small stubby pencil, and a piece of paper. Once all the soldiers were given the writing materials, the soldier who had drove the car explained what they were supposed to do.
“This could be your last night in our beautiful world,” several soldiers flinched at the way the aged soldier said these words. It was almost as if he was a professional. “We want you to write to your friends and family-and remember, they must all be addressed in one letter. On our way back to the camp in Richote, we will personally make it possible that these letters are delivered to your beloved. Because we don’t want them to have to know that you are gone, when, instead of you on your arrival day, comes a box, with all your belongings, and a note that says, ‘Your husband/wife/daughter/son was very loyal to our country, and we take it an honor, as well as misfortune, that they could not survive in this fight to save our country.” The old man wiped his misty eyes. “We don’t want that at all.”
Damien shuddered at the thought of Roma finding a box on the doorstep, before realizing that the rose had turned. He didn’t wish for it, but there was a fifty percent chance that this was ought to happen. All the soldiers knew, because this rule was printed in each of their fates.
The other soldier spoke now. “You have ten minutes at the most, then we must hurry…” This soldier’s voice was soft, and jumpy.
Everyone nodded, and began to scribble on their papers.
Damien just stared at the yellowed paper. What would he say?
He looked up at Camden, who was writing away, his handwriting neat and loopy.
Damien looked down at his paper again. Then he began to write.
‘Dear mom, dad, Izabel, Tim, and Jojo, my little pup, and my dearest Roma.
First off, I want to tell you all that I leave each and everyone of you very very much, especially at this moment in time. Mom, I really miss your cooking now-this camp food isn’t anything compared to your cooking ma. And Tim, I can’t wait to come back and beat you at football. It’s quite obvious that you cheated last time, but that’s okay, because this time, I'm not going to go easy on you… Izabel, love, don’t worry. I will be there in time for your wedding, and I will walk you down in dad’s place. Trust me, because I promised you right? That everything would be perfect on your wedding day, and that I will be there to celebrate it with you all? Tell Jojo I say hi, and give him a bacon strip. For my sake. The poor pup is always walking around asking you for food, but you all are such, that you don’t even notice!
And Roma, I shall be there for our wedding as well. It shall be fantastic, much like Izabel’s wedding. Don’t worry about how clean the house should be when I get there, because you know as well as I do that I like our home messy. (It looks cozier that way.) But I must say, that you should probably make those fantastic apple dumplings of yours. Mmm, my mouth is watering just thinking about them….
And so are my eyes. Mom, Tim, Izabel, Roma. I know you all know what can happen to me here. I’m not telling you to expect it, but be ready. . More like, prepared. I’m trying as hard as I can on my part, being as cautious, and careful as I can, but you know a soldiers life. Full of surprises.
Don’t forget,
I love you all,
Damien.
Damien signed his name, folded his paper, handed it to the soldier, and stepped into the tent Ready for instructions. Ready, for anything
~*~
A bullet passed by me, and collided with the thickness of my bulletproof jacket, leaving no impact on me, except for a racing heart. I sprinted to the safety behind a crumbling building. Around me, shouts, and orders echoed, the calls of newborn birds, falling to their death…
Camden had told me that our soldiers were being held in the building across from the International Restaurant, a drab, and unhygienic place. I glanced around me, and noticed a huddle of four or five men, all dressed in black, their bulging eyes looking at everyone threateningly. Above them was a sign that read:
Good Night Hotel
I observed that all the windows in this building were sealed shut. I strained my neck to look across the street, and to my advantage, the building across from the hotel, was none other than the International Restaurant.
“This is it.” I said to myself, and with that, I snuck towards the entrance of the Good Night Hotel.

~*~
Back in London, Roma was asleep, snuggled in the warmth of her bed, comforted by the warmth of her dreams. Downstairs in her house, which she had so tirelessly cleaned for the arrival of Damien the next day, a rose lay in a crystal vase.
Roma was so attached to this particular rose. It was as if her life were caught up in it. Maybe that’s why, everyday, the first thing she would do was check for the life of this beautiful rose. She would descend her staircase praying that her rose was still as soft, and alive as her cat, Tigger.
However, at this moment, Roma was asleep, and assured the rose was alive, and glowing with beauty. She wasn’t there to see her precious rose fight for life, the tips of its petals and leaves turning hard, and wooden, then soft and alive. How long would this rose fight off its death? Slowly, the rose turned to wood, first its petals, then its leaves. A great, and terrible beauty, a truth, any possessor of the rose wishes not to face. A truth, Roma would find gaping at her, its perfect beauty, mocking her loneliness.