Stories Of Roses

Sit by the fire for a while with a nice warm drink. Let us tell you a story or two, maybe it could bring you some comfort or respite on your travels.

[storiesofroses]

Wrong

A girl sits alone, quietly suffering. To the outside world, she just looks like an ordinary girl, a mundane human girl. And that is exactly the problem. She's not ordinary. She's not mundane. She's not human. The other children pick on her. They call her a crazy, childish baby. Her mother is no different, she blames the girl for being bullied. "If you weren't such an immature brat, you'd have more friends!" What are you supposed to do when your entire existence is wrong? In a body that's not yours. In a world that you don't belong. In a world that doesn't love you, that sees you as a delusional freak. For now, she confides in the few friends she does have: her plushies and toys. The cruel humans say they're not real but what makes a creature real? Her mother had read her a story once, of a toy that became real through love and affection. Her friends were surely real, the humans just lacked the love to see it.

[storiesofroses]

Inheritance

A doll sits alone in the attic. She doesn't know how many years it has been since she was played with. It's cold and dark up here. But her old friend has brought her along time and again moving from house to house so she certainly hasn't forgotten or abandoned her. Finally, footsteps come rising up the ladder. "Time to move again?" she wonders but surprisingly her old friend lifts out of her box, dusts off and carries her downstairs. Finally, she's set on the table and she understands everything. She's staring into a familiar yet different face. A new friend's face. "She was mine when I was your age, take good care of her," the mother says and the girl nods before hugging her new friend.

[storiesofroses]

Texting

Two girlfriends sit together inside a busy train station. It's loud and they can hardly hear one another speak. One turns to the other smiles and begins typing on her phone. The latter receives a message, "If you could go back in time and change your past, your pain, would you?" She closes her eyes for a moment, thinking, before beginning to type her response. "No. What if I changed too much and I never met you? The love we share makes any and all pain worthwhile." The first looks up at her partner, shocked but smiling. A quiet, tender moment amidst the hustle and bustle.

[storiesofroses]

Mourning

The girl kneels by the headstone, neatly organising the flowers which she brought. How many years has it been now? How much has been forgotten? Their voice? Their cadence? Maybe even the intricacies of their face... But what she'll never forget is the impact they had on her. Their love. Their kindness. Their warmth. Even though their body is now as cold as the ground they lay in, the hope they brought to her world still warms her heart. She stands and speaks before they must part once again, "I hope you're still smiling down on me," she says with bittersweet tears in her eyes

[storiesofroses]

Sunlight

A table and two chairs stand in the fleeting light of the sunset. A doll and its witch sit, drinking their tea and watching. A brief, peaceful moment in their tumultuous lives. The doll draws its attention to the flowers in their garden; such a beautiful arrangement that they have grown. They couldn't have done it alone, of course. Without the Sun, those flowers could never have prospered. The sun's glow is slowly eclipsed by the nature that surrounds them; the light creeps behind the mountains and treetops and their world is becoming encompassed by darkness once again. The doll looks to its witch, who turns to it and smiles. She had told it once that there is a myth that sunflowers face one another on days where the Sun is obscured but that that was just a poetic, sweet superstition. Bathed in the radiance of its witch's smile, the doll understood the metaphorical purpose of such a fantastical fiction.

[storiesofroses]

Fire

There is a girl. A girl with a flame burning deep, deep in her soul. A flame that burns with passion for her interests. A flame that burns with love for her partners and family. A flame that burns with anger and hatred for a world that says her and her loved ones' existence is wrong. A world that demands conformity and obedience, that pathologises dissent and deviation. A world that says she is a perverted, delusional man. A world that seeks to snuff out her flame. But she keeps burning. The blistering cold world and it's attempts to extinguish that flame just make it burn all the brighter. If they want to kill that flame, they'll have to kill her too. This cruel world knows that. This cruel world is fine with that. This cruel world seeks that. Maybe one day it'll succeed, but not today. Even if it does, more fires will just keep igniting. These burning flames are a natural response to the cold winter of oppression. These flames of love. These flames of hatred. These flames of revolution. Maybe one day they'll combine into an inferno and consume this dystopian world. Maybe then they'll be able to burn without the fear of them or their loved ones being snuffed out. But until then, they'll keep burning despite of the harsh cold. Burning with love for the victims and fury for the oppressors. Burning in spite of those that want to see your flame, your passion, your will snuffed out. Burning in the memory of those that we've lost along the way.

Happy pride.

[skulkofroses]

I will get back to writing soon, just taking a short break to focus on some other things I've needed to get done for a bit right now.

[storiesofroses]

Tired

The door closes, shutting away the outside world. A body stumbles into the house and collapses onto the couch with an exhausted sigh. They need to get out of these clothes but that requires getting back up. However, getting back up takes so much energy, energy that they just can't muster right now. They lie there for a bit, recovering what little energy they can. Looking up, they notice the sun setting through the window. Night is coming and the day, the world humans tend to inhabit, is drawing to a close. Closing their eyes, they give a few deep breaths before standing up. Comfortable clothes on, blankets, pillows and plushies prepared and a warm meal, they sit back down and start to feel satisfied. Here, in this private place, away from that world, they can finally stop pretending to be human. They can abandon all expectations, norms, standards. They can just exist, as their true, unfiltered self. The sun sets on the facade of humanity, of personhood, and the beast can finally be free under the light of the moon.

[storiesofroses]

The Lonely Witch

The witch sits alone in a garden, sipping her tea. She has all the magic she could dream of at her fingertips. All she has to do is say the right words and whatever she wishes can come true. Still, she yearns for the one thing that she lacks: companionship. The lonely witch laughs at herself dejectedly. She could summon a mountain of gold. She could make the stars dance to her will. Yet the one thing she cannot do is find a friend. A true friend. Surely, she could bribe a person with whatever they desire but that wouldn't be real friendship, would it? They'd only be tolerating her because of what she can give them. "Would that be better than being alone?" the witch pondered, "or worse?" She swallowed her tea again and sighed, deeming that that would be more effort than it is worth. As much as she longed for friendship, such a transactional relationship built on greed would not fill that void. She thought back to her youth and her mentor's words flashed in her mind. Children hold such magical potential in their wonder. Lacking in that anti-magical logic, they can manifest friends out of inanimate objects: plushies and toys, sometimes even thin air. "That's it!" the lonely witch exclaimed, downing the rest of her tea, "If I can't find a friend among people, then I must create one myself from an object!" She arose from her seat, determined to make a friend.

[storiesofroses]

Gender

The girl stood, nervous. Listening carefully, looking around, she made sure her father wasn't going to get up and come check on her. Sighing, she turned on her console and went to the application for character creation. The girl found the one she had made after herself and selected to edit. She found the option to change the gender and swapped it from 'male' to 'female'. "What is this feeling? Why does it make me feel this way?" she pondered every time she did this before quickly changing it back before someone could catch her. In time she'll find herself.

[storiesofroses]

Hunted

The storm rages on above. A torrential rain of bullets. The thundering snarls of the hounds brought to hunt them down. Underneath the earth, two foxes are curled up together in a well-hidden den. One unlucky roll of the dice, one wrong breath, and they storm comes crashing into their little pocket of safety. To call it terrifying would be an understatement. "But I'll be with you until the end", they both think, knowing the other feels the same. Through bleak Winter and blistering Summer, through the leaden downpour and the rivers of blood left in it's wake. I'll be with you through it all.

[storiesofroses]

Wonderland

The girl lies alone on her bed. Her parents are out for a little while and she breathes an exhausted sigh of relief. Her eyes close and her mind wanders. Before she knows it, she awakes in another realm, a world away from the mundane prison she lay captive in. She looks around, deciding where to go and what to do. The world is at her fingertips, just for now, until the cruel world the grown-ups call reality seeps back in.

[storiesofroses]

Memories

The old ones watch on silently. Observing humans and animals, the mundane and the ethereal. All that wander this world. One day, memories will be all that remain on this plane of any mortal. It's tragic. It's heartbreaking. They live in fear that one day, they will be forgotten, and nothing will remain. Perhaps that is why some do the good that they do, to be remembered as long as possible. But the old ones remember. They always remember the good, and the bad. Even after millenia, it still pains them to watch those shining with hope be stolen away far too soon. But such is the cruelty of the world, and all the more reason to put more kindness into it while mortals can. Whether to be remembered when they're gone, or to make others' fleeting lives just a little more better, the memories will remain, one way or another.

In memory of Juniper Blessing, Luca RedBeard and everyone else we've lost and keep losing to transmisic violence.

[storiesofroses]

Shadows

Two silhouettes stretch to the wall, born from the light of the fireplace in the frigid Winter's dusk. They laugh. They joke. They gesticulate. One stretches their arms to the sky with a loud yawn. The other draws closer, pulling them into an embrace. One shadow stretches to the wall Two people. Two bodies. Two souls. But snuggled up together on this cold Winter's eve, they're one.

[storiesofroses]

Silverfish

A vampire stands in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. All the more important to keep your fangs clean and sharp as a childe of the night, after all. Suddenly, there's movement in the corner of her vision. A silverfish silently scurries across the floor. The girl smiles, rinses out her mouth and sits by the shower, just watching. A little company can't hurt, just for a bit.

[storiesofroses]

Mr. Ted

It's been so many years now, hasn't it? I still remember the day you brought me home. Your mother won me in a claw machine and you were so happy. When she would tuck us both in together each night. When you were sick and both she and I took care of you. How you clung to me and cried when she died. How you brought me with you when you finally fled that so-called home as an adult. My fur may not be as soft as when we first met. You may not be as small as that day. And maybe you don't remember it all, but I always will.

[storiesofroses]

Home

A cozy cottage stands amidst the trees. A place not of this world. A place for those that this world has abandoned. A reprieve from the cold and the cruel. Inside is warmth. An ever-burning fireplace, a nurturing embrace and the smiles and laughter of children. Children that experienced that which no child should ever experience. Warmth for those whose hearts only knew this world's cold. Kindness for those who were subject to the depths of human cruelty. Safety from all the horrors. Those that live here were once abandoned, left behind, broken, alone; that callous fate is no more. In a safe place, in trust with one another, despite it all, they're together. They're home.