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The Rose Garden
When I was of a younger age, I used to visit a rose garden from time to time. It was upheld by an elderly woman
who had been tending the roses since she was a little girl. At least that's what she told me, and one can only
believe so many things said by those suffering from the affliction of age. In the garden the roses were of many colors
creating patterns between each other as they mixed. If you looked at the roses in just the right fashion, they would
start to dance amongst one another, in a sort of waltz. Though this must have been a trick played on me by my own
flawed perception, it was brilliant never the less.
One afternoon after a long rain, the sun had come up and its colors were modeling their brilliance on the dew drops,
and on the damp air. In this time of quiet, in the time in which nature starts to contemplate the colors, I saw something
rather precarious and peculiar. The elderly lady, who was a fragile one had set ablaze. Even as I write this, I can not
tell you the cause of this fire. But alas, she was on fire like logs burning in a furnace. Being so many miles away
in the rose garden, I had to think rather quickly. Now I hope you don't think it too pretentious of me, but I think what I
did next was nothing short of brilliant.
I began to gather up the dew drops, collecting each one in a bucket given to me by the sky many ages ago. After a short
while I had many drops of water, each shining vividly with the color given to it by the sun. Now what I did with this
collection, even the fairies will admire my sentience for. I took the water, and combined it together, and I created a river.
Using all of my strength I threw the river at the poor lady. And she swam inside, and suddenly became a fish.
A fish that swam in a colorful rainbow river, and still swims to this day I suppose.
Now if I were to tell you that this instantly had an emotional impact on me, then I would be a liar. I can only assume
that you made the assumption that because I was of a younger age, I had not yet been given the ability to feel. Because
as you know one must make the logical distinction between right and wrong, before one is allowed to experience mood.
So when I got home, I began to think on this ordeal. And I began to think that what I had done was admirable. That what
I had done was indeed the correct thing to do. So I went to my mother, to tell her of my realizations. When I told her
she smiled, and spoke to me in a voice like strawberry cider. She told me to reach out my hand, and so I did.
She then bestowed upon me a ring, the ring of emotion, a ring of moods.
And now I can feel the wonder of happiness, and sadness, of anger and of love. Each emotion a vivid color,
like a rose in a garden.