The single strand red rose swam stiffly around the clear, glass vase.
The water was starting to evaporate, leaving the upper skin of the vase moist. The vase sat on the high-grade wooden table before me, softly snickering at me.
I kept telling myself that it was because of the work that he cancelled this date, but I knew it was not the reason. Today was their wedding anniversary and I could not give a clap for that. The red dressed that seductively hugged my body patiently waited for his hands, but it was already past ten.
I stood up and harshly took the red rose from its house, causing a tremble to the vase. I went to the kitchen and retrieved my favorite stainless steel knife before I placed the rose on the ceramic kitchen counter.
I killed the rose. Small sprouts of red-inked water bloomed from the tortured petals. I skinned the stem, palmed the petals, and shrieked at it—not caring if the thorns were dragging blood out of my tender skin.
I snatched the brutalized rose and drowned it with the water from my kitchen sink. I left the water open and laughed loud. Soon, tears were gently running to my cheeks until I felt ice formed in my lungs.
You deserved what your rose got from me.
WORD COUNT: 222
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