The darkness of night faded into the soft pinks and oranges of sunrise. The murmuring of the life signaled the rising of the sun. Dew collected on the leaves of the slumbering plants, trying to wake them up from their deep sleep. Yawning, the rose awoke, stretching its leaves. Little by little, the rose’s soft red color opened to the Earth, bidding hello. Surrounded by nature’s jewels, the rose continued to open, allowing more of its petals to be free.  Catching the eye of the sun who was curiously watching the new addition to the garden, the rose blushed turning a deep shade of red. The garden was soon in full bloom as nature mingled and greeted their new beautiful addition. But they were oblivious to the dark knots and thorns starting to form that were masked by the innocence and beauty of the young rose.

As the rose continued to grow, she towered over the others in the garden. Her stem slithered in the summer breeze, hypnotizing those who stood in awe of her grandeur. They never saw the sharp daggers hiding under her crimson petals, ready to strike any moment like Medusa’s snakes. Those who had the courage to approach the flower of love were greeted by a sharp sting as her thorns would attack their friendly touch. The faint smell of blood always underlined her soft fragrance.
As she towered over the garden on her throne of thorns masked by rubies, she observed the peacefulness of her garden. She glared at how nature intermingled so effortlessly while no one even bothered to speak to her. The rose scoffed, there had to be a reasonable explanation. It couldn’t be because of her thorns, she made sure to keep those hidden. The only possibly explanation was she was just too posh for that garden.  She didn’t need the help and love of others, all she needed was her elegance. But she was too naïve to understand that the winsomeness of the garden wasn’t everlasting. Her fall from grace was approaching as summer started to fade with autumn’s first breeze.
As the Earth swirled into golds and reds at falls first chill, the garden wilted in despair. They knew that their time was up. Soon the garden was full of rustling, each flower and plant warning the next, fall was approaching. The foliage shed its leaves and prayed for strength for the grueling winter to come. The birds crowed their final goodbyes as they abandoned the garden in hope of finding their own shelter. But the rose did not listen to the warnings of others. She knew her beauty would carry her through any obstacle and if the challenge got too great she would simply use her thorns.  She did not need their advice, their heeding, or their warnings. It angered her that the others thought her so weak.
  Time quickly passed as the rose became the last remaining life in the garden. The coldness that started to eat away at the rose was masked by her anger of being utterly alone. “How dare they leave me, the jewel of this wretched garden alone? What is their purpose but to acknowledge me?” Starting to reflect autumn’s chill, her once ruby petals, now the color of dried blood decorated and ground. What did not wither was her thorns, which now incased her like iron bars. The world no longer saw her external beauty, but the darkness that was always hidden within. she blamed the others for her fading beauty, quickly coming to the conclusion that her beauty was fading due to the lack of their laud. She continued to wallow in self-pity as the warmth of the sun she grew accustomed to was replaced by stormy clouds that spit down at her. With her alluringness dissipated, green leaves crushed, and her sickening sweet perfume blown away like her arrogance; her blackening thorns grew stronger, putting the Clarent to shame. She tried calling out for help, only to hear her defeating voice echo through the barren garden. She felt the stab of every thorn; the bruises of every dying branch. Just like her thorns, her loneliness for the first time was put on display for Mother Nature to see. She felt lost; what was the point of being in the garden if she was now just a hideous bundle of distorted stems and thorns? What was the point of being in the Garden of Eden after its demise? The rose continued to loath in self-pity as the first frost took place, wishing that she could escape the ugliness that life had become. She longed for the days when she was the prize of life, when she was young and breathtaking. Why did she not listen to the warnings from the others? Why did she let her vanity overshadow the help of others? Then it hit her, life was not about beauty and attention. For the first time, the rose wept; her whole existence was irrelevant. She missed the true meaning of life by being wrapped up on something materialistic, something that would dissipate between the passing of each season. The rose wept, letting her confident facade shatter as loneliness consumed her. The melancholy sounds of the final leaves falling off the barren trees lured the dying rose into an uneasy eternal slumber, making the fallen queen from the garden disappear into the foggy dusk.
Within a few months, the plants and flowers awoke by the chirping of the birds that arrived back to the garden after a long winter’s nap. Shaking off the layers of dirt brought in by winter storms, the wildlife mingled and reconnected, taking attendance of who made it through the brutal winter. They quickly realized that a predominant member was missing; the rose. Frantically, the others searched to find their missing companion. When approaching her part of the garden, all they found was a single thorn.