Crimson Rings

November 18, 2014
By Mo-Con BRONZE, Hartland, Wisconsin
Mo-Con BRONZE, Hartland, Wisconsin
4 articles 0 photos 9 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Our past is a story. Our future is it's sequel."

I crouched in front of the smooth rock, focusing my eyes on the crimson rose. The energetic petals were being pulled down by the dull snow. A beautiful metaphor, maybe I could use it in my literature class. I love using metaphors. They’re better than telling what you think right away. They make themes lighter to a person because the truth in the metaphor has always been darker. The truth is like a harsh slap. It’s left by a hand we use everyday, but it takes the slap for us to realize what dangers it can hold. I guess what I am trying to say is that the truth is just a way for us to lose our innocence and faith in each other. Just like Dad. He lost faith a long time ago. Right after she died. It was torn away by the death that took her.


I sigh as I stand up. My breath was instantly caught in the frozen air. The stone was down in front of me. I turned my head away from it towards my Dad. Yeah, he lost faith, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. He followed me up and placed a hand on the tombstone to balance. His face was clear of any emotion and it made me get a pit feeling. He only made that face when he was going to cry. He makes that face all the time now. I have never seen him cry, he usually leaves before I can. He tightened his jacket and his crisp hazel eyes fell on me. I look like her. That’s why Dad gets tight lipped around me. Sometimes he’ll call me by her name. Of course he says he sorry but, I can tell he wishes I was her.  Wishes death took me instead. His faith would be ripped away but not as much of it that he lost now. It would have been easier for him, and me.


I then heard the short gasp of breaths. The before the storm. His body collapsed and he knelt on the cold snow. Hands glazed over glossy words. His body shook and trembled. Then it started. It was nothing but a soft whimper, a sound I thought someone so hard and gritty like Dad would never make. Then came the sobs. They were loud and hoarse. They were filled to the brim with sadness and trimmed with pain. Each one crashed against the walls around us and echoed through the empty yard. More and more escaped and filled my head. I couldn’t take it. My body twisted around and pushed towards the gate. I wrapped my hands around the cool metal and opened the gate. I rushed towards the sidewalk and shut the gates once more. Was it me or was it colder out here? I just sighed and rested on the outside of the stone wall. I couldn’t hear the sobs anymore and my head stopped throbbing.


I let my eyes rest and sunk down to a sitting position. I sat there in the cold alone. Isolated from the pain and guilt of it all. I didn’t want to feel it all. I wanted to just leave emotions behind. I want to be able to control them. I want… what do I want? My head throbbed again, but a quick thump against the wall made it stop. I guess this was my problem, I was too confused to decide anything.

I heard a small voice call out my name.


“Barry?” It asked and my father appeared outside the gate with me.



“Hi.” I said deadpanned.


“You're going to catch a cold.” Dad came over to me and stared at my coated form.


“I’ll be fine.” I snapped back. I didn’t mean to, it just happened.


“Barry, listen.” He sighed out and he sunk down next to me. I looked at him, he looked at me.
“You told me once you were sorry for her dying.” He barely said above a whisper. “Please tell me you don’t think this is your fault.” I didn’t answer.
“Barry..” He trailed off and looked at the street in front of us.
“Before she died, she told me your name.” I looked at him crazy. He must have told me this story about fifty times.
“She wanted you to be named Barloc. It means hope.” He took a breath in before he continued. “She also gave me something she wanted you to have.” He pulled a ring out of his pocket. It had a rose embraced in the soft red jewels that lined it. Gold made up the base and words were imprinted in it. It said Marlane. This was the part I never heard of. The object I had never seen. 
“Her wedding ring.” He looked at it intently, exploring its features. “I got it for her. The dealer told me it was from a special collection.” He smiled. My eyes widened a little.
“Its the only one like it. I kept it because I thought I needed it more. I needed the gift it brought.” He then took my hands and made them wrap around it. My icy blue meets his dark brown. “But you need it more.” I couldn’t believe it. I was at I lost of words. My body was still capable to move and I lunged toward him and hugged his torso tight. His strong ones wrapped around me and I buried myself in his open figure.


I was wrong about metaphors and the truth. The two didn’t always bring hate and sadness. They sometimes could be more precious than gold.

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About the Author

Morgan is a seventh grader at North Shore Middle School. She enjoys playing sports , preferably soccer, hanging out with her friends when she isn’t busy practicing for her next game, and writing realistic fiction stories. When it comes to writing, Morgan likes to write about characters with an emotional struggle, usually concerning their family. Her plots end with cliffhangers so the reader can decide the end. She enjoys seeing what versions others have come up with. Morgan finds grammar is the hardest part of writing. When Morgan grows up she wants to be a cardiovascular surgeon. She finds the job challenging but is up for the challenge. Her advice to young readers is to be descriptive. It gives a reader a great image and the whole point of stories is to put the reader in a world outside of ours. When you do this, the reader can imagine the world and really get into the book.

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