Day 9 of 30 days of Fiction: “9) Write a scene working from the title ‘Roses are Red, Violets are Dead'”
Jack brought me roses on our first date.
A little clichéd, certainly, thorns and all, but the thing about roses is, even after they dry, they hold their color.
That’s what we were like, Jack and I. The relationship faded over time, lost its fresh bloom, but the friendship lingered.
Kyle brought me daisies and took me to summer theatre in the park.
It was very earthy, pleasant; a nice time, all in all, but with a very short lifespan. A summer romance, if you will.
Daisies look nice, when they dry, if a little flattened, and so did he.
Harold went with calla lilies. The funereal aspect was strange, I’ll admit, but that fit with the macabre theme of the restaurant and movie he picked. The whole date had a strange haze, as it in an old movie, and the lilies yellowed, like a newspaper clipping, like something over.
Martin came with carnations, a bad start before I’d even opened the door. The date itself was tolerable, in a sort of plastic way, as if it came pre-packaged from the store, bow tie and all, and left no aftertaste at all.
Carnations look just as cheap dried as fresh.
Peter’s arms were full of violets, a gesture both over the top and so underdone, as was he. The date was distasteful from start to finish, his hands sweaty, his breath rancid, his come-ons uncouth, underhanded, sneaky, and then intolerable.
Violets just look dead when dried – and so does he.
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