The Metaphor: Part Six.

by | Feb 25, 2024 | Uncategorized | 2 comments

His attention turned to the little rose bush in the front garden..

Guilt followed the old may in the days to come. His conversation with the plant pushed to the back of his mind. He knew all of this was wrong.

Besides, it was spring and there was lots to do. He watered his little friend but ignored her pleas.

“What’s wrong Mikel? What did I do wrong?”

His attention turned to the little rose bush in the front garden. He’d pruned it last year and it was coming to life. Tiny buds appeared on the thorny stem. He was excited at the start of a new growing season they preceded.

“What are you doing out there old man? What’s more interesting than me?” The plant demanded. He picked up the pot and took it outside.

“This is my rose bush. I knew her before you. She doesn’t demand of me and she doesn’t talk about strange things. In fact, she doesn’t talk at all and I’m happy with that,” said Mikel.

“Oh, I see. It’s like that is it? You’ve fallen for her thorny charms and beautiful flowers?” The little shrub’s words were as green as her leaves.

“Don’t say that. You don’t even know her,” he snapped. He took the plant back inside and thumped it onto the table.

“I know her type. The pretty type with the sharp thorns. You’re such a gullible old man.” There was a hint of desperation in her barbed comment. She could be just as thorny.

“I won’t have you talk about rose like that. Why are you even here? Stuck in this half world. You must have done something truly evil.” He countered, turning around and marching out of the door. He sat on the bench and gazed at the rose bush. He loved that rose so much. Even though he only saw her for a few weeks of the year. They were precious weeks. He talked to the rose bush but never got a reply. However, he was happy with that. It was the way it should be. Not like that weird thing in the house.

As the weeks went on and the weather improved, Mikel spent more time outside. He tended to the fields and made necessary repairs. All of this spurred on by the blossoming rose bush.

He brought her fresh manure from the barn and sprayed her with a potion to keep away black flies. She rewarded him with beautiful dense flowers with thick interweaving petals and a scent to die for. The more he loved his rose, the more he hated that little parasite who’d forced her way into his life. Eventually, he stopped watering it. He picked it up and took it out to the barn.

“You can’t do this to me old man. This is all your fault. You put me here, where I don’t belong.” Her words were bitter and spiteful. He slammed the barn door and the plant was left in darkness.

In the pitch black, the plant remembered a time before this. A time when she was in control. A time when she threw it all away.

2 Comments

  1. Kenneth Childs

    Was that the great finale?

    Reply
    • brian

      No, Ken. Tomorrow is the last one.

      Reply

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