I hope someone cries while reading this. I've never been able to make anyone cry with any of my stories before, other than my mother. So make my day, and cry, please.
CrapPishh said that the previous version was not too good, so I edited it. The ending, especially, was changed.
Roses on the Windowsill
I still remember vividly how we met each other.
She had been my arch-rival since youth; we had both striven to be the most powerful in our hometown of Henesys—I a thief, then bandit, then Chief Bandit; she a warrior who later became a crusader. It was the main goal of my training—to stay ahead of her in level and skill, though she was never far behind, sometimes even growing stronger than me.
Our rivalry had been famed throughout the eastern village of Henesys. Whenever we saw each other on the streets in the presence of the others, we were expected to sneer, roll our eyes or simply show our dislike of each other. So we did.
But I loved her, I really did. She fought hard to equal my skills, and yet there was never any true rivalry between us. We were just competitors, and somehow, it was bringing us closer to each other. Somehow, for some reason, I simply fell in love with her, like that.
Rose, that was her name. I loved her name.
One sunny morning, I had been training in the far fields of Henesys. She had suddenly arrived beside me, a bright rose in her hair. For all the world, I could not stop looking at her, at how she managed to fight so gracefully, even when she was killing. Rose, that name suited her. Fiery with power and passion, and yet still beautiful. That was exactly what I loved about her.
Slowly, I approached her as she swung her axe again. I expected her to ignore me, as she always did in the village, when we passed each other. I expected her, even more, to turn away and leave the training ground altogether.
What I did not expect her to do was to stop and turn to me, a bright smile on her face. "Hey," she called gladly, all trace of the hostility she had always masked herself with gone. "Why'd you come here?"
That had been the first conversation of many to come. Soon, our pretence of enmity faded away, turning into friendship and cooperation. One day, I was suddenly bold enough to declare my love to her. She accepted it, blushing, and told me that she had waited two years for me to say that.
We got married two years later. Rose was the best person I could ever ask to marry. She always put me before herself, always gave in whenever I wanted something of her. She never seemed to mind.
Then, the bonds between the two of us suddenly began to break when Cerina, our daughter, came into the world. Rose started talking to me less and less, spending more time with Cerina. She now expected me to do everything by myself, working hard to please Cerina, whom seemed to care about more than me now.
It made me very angry. I didn't understand, I thought that she didn't love me anymore, and it pierced me deeply, like a lance or a razor in my heart. I wanted her back, I wanted her to be the way she had been before, before Cerina had come into the world.
She didn't seem to notice how much it upset me; she simply ignored me, never seeing the sadness in my eyes, only seeing the tears in Cerina's.
Cerina fell sick with tuberculosis when she was five. Then, Rose stopped talking to me altogether. When I came home, she did not stand at the door to greet me as she once had. She didn't prepare dinner for me.
What had happened to the submissive girl that Rose had once been? Did I mean less to her now?
That night, I met her in my bedroom. She had finally exited Cerina's bedroom, her eyes full of tears, tears she would never shed for me. That only managed to irritate me more.
"Tomorrow, we've got to take her to the doctor," she said. "Otherwise, she'll—"
She was crying now.
I could no longer stand it.
"Can't you see that how hard I work to earn money?" I yelled at her, wanting more than ever to set free all the anger I had entrapped in the cage of my heart, the consuming darkness crashing on the bars within me like a monster.
All roses, no matter how beautiful they appear, always have thorns. And it was the thorns that I felt now, twining around my soul, my life. It was the sharp, blood-drawing thorns that had born hate in me.
"No," I repeated firmly. "We're not going to spend thousands of mesos on our daughter." Why those words had come out of my mouth, I had no idea. I was possessed with a madness that I could not control.
Rose tried to argue in Cerina's favour. "But she needs it…don't you—don't you care?"
The defiance in her eyes drove me to do it. All this time, all the love she was diverting away from me, to Cerina—I hated it. I hated everything she was doing.
In an instant, my dagger was out of my pocket, in my hand. And with one bright flash in the desolate streetlight from beyond the window, I had plunged it deep into her heart. I felt for a moment as if I were killing a monster; felt the same satisfaction as if I were killing one. She didn't make any sound; her mouth fell open and her eyes widened with momentary shock, as the pain took hold of her.
Suddenly, everything came flying back to mind, all sense suddenly returning, too late.
Rose's body began to fall, the dagger still deep in her chest, tearing through her beautiful lace night dress.
Great Goddess, what have I done?! No, no! What's wrong with me?
Suddenly, all that burning hate dissipated. I felt as if I were spiraling through blind darkness, as the world around me fell apart, as shocking realization seeped into my mind about what I had just done.
I did still love her. And I had ended her. I felt as if I were suddenly drowning, drowning in a pool of blood.
Why? What's the matter with me?!
She had only been doing what was right. She had only wanted to keep our daughter alive, only wanted to save the very one whom she had birthed with her own blood and tears, with her own spirit. Now, I saw all the reasons I had not before. I had killed her because of all that.
From the door of Cerina's room, the sounds of coughs from the lungs of a young girl sounded, more frightening than ever. I killed Rose when our daughter needed her most.
No, I was a strong man, so I wouldn't cry. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much pain I had brought upon myself, all I could do now was to bury her. I couldn't let Cerina see what had happened. I would keep the secret from her, for all my life, if I had to.
All night, I worked in the garden, digging a grave for Rose. Guilt filled me up as I sank deeper into my self-hate, blinded me and made me unable to see, unwilling to live.
Only the sounds of Cerina's constant coughing and wheezing kept me going throughout the night.
"Dad, where did mum go?" was the first thing Cerina asked when her throat had cleared and she could finally talk again. I had taken care of her every hour of the day, sacrificed my working time to take her to the doctor and care for her at home.
Now, I turned guiltily to the doorway of her room, ready to tell her the lie that I had fabricated. "She…she decided to go to find the cure for you, but she didn't ever come back," I replied, trying to sound truthful.
"I really hope she comes back soon," Cerina replied. Now, I felt even more guilt at the impossible hope that I had instilled in her. But no, I couldn't let her know what I had done. She would hate me, and run away from me, I was sure. I was a coward, and I would lie to keep everything as it was.
We lived well, the weight of the growing heavier on my back all the while. She often visited the next-door neighbours, and they were kind to her, kind to me as well. Somehow, I felt as if I didn't deserve their kindness.
The guilt had not died yet. Like a shadow, it hovered over me as I did everything, made me feel terrible whenever someone told me that I was a kind person. I felt imprisoned by that deed years ago. Killed Rose, killed the one I loved out of impulse.
I felt, also, that I didn't deserve Cerina. She had become a pious girl, praying at the altar on her knees every night, for something I knew she could never get—her mother. She was obedient, a shadow of her mother, and the likeness struck me deep with pain.
Cerina came to me one day with a packet in her hand, after her visit to our neighbours.
"Dad, you know there's this trough outside my window," she said nervously. "I wanted to plant some roses there. Can I? May next door gave me a packet of rose seeds today…"
Roses. That word made me shiver. All at once, I began to think of that night, of the feeling of my blade tearing a human's flesh. Then I remembered that day in the fields, thought at once of the rose that had adorned that girl's forehead, which now drove so much guilt into me.
"No," I replied. "No roses." I didn't want to remember. I didn't want those flowers to be there to remind me of something I had been trying to ignore for years.
Cerina sighed. "But dad…They look nice," she pleaded. "Why can't I—" Her shout was cut off as I slapped her hands and the packet fell to the floor, the seeds spilling out.
"NO!" I shouted, too angry to think. Weeping, the girl knelt down to gather the seeds up before me. She left, and I felt regret fill me up once she was gone. I didn't want it all to be like this. The beautiful, kind girl didn't deserve what I had just done.
That night, when I went to check on her in her bed, I saw the earth freshly dug-up in the trough outside, four neat lumps in a row.
She really planted them.
Without a second thought, I went over to dig the seeds out, but out of the wish to hide my deed, I reformed the mounds of soil, now without anything inside.
The next day, and following days after, she watered those empty mounds, and was disappointed that they were not growing. I told her not to try anymore, and dejected, she complied.
I really wanted to forget. I wanted it all to become a lie. I would do everything in my power to deny it, to keep that memory away. So the lie continued.
War came. Meaningless killings by enemies from this strange dark organization, just for the sake of striking terror into the people's hearts, were rife in Henesys.
Cerina was eleven, a magician now. I was proud to be her father, and at the same time, guilty to know and feel the love that she showered on me. Since she had been five, I had lied to her about what had happened to her mother, and till this day, she was still praying for her, praying for my dear Rose to come home, when she would never.
All of Cerina's love, for both of us, had reopened my wounds, made them deeper than before.
"Dad!" She exclaimed, calling for me to come over while we were strolling in the park. "Look at this." I followed her gaze, and found myself looking down at a strange object hanging from a leaf of the bush she had pointed out—a cocoon.
Slowly, something was trying to pull itself free from inside. It was a butterfly, I could now see, its wings darkening the interior of the beige cocoon.
"It's really amazing," Cerina went on dreamily. "How it forgets everything that happened in its old life, as a caterpillar, and starts life anew when it comes out like this, as a butterfly. It used to eat plants and destroy them, but now—" She paused, gasping in awe as it finally emerged, full and complete, any trace of its old form gone.
"Now, it's going to help the flowers," she finished. All the while, I thought, as wetness rose to my eyes. Forget everything in its old life, stop destroying, start anew…
I thought about my own life. And I wished that I, like the caterpillar, could forget all my sins, could start my soul anew, like a fresh sheet of paper. But it wouldn't be so easy. It would follow, the guilt would follow me for the rest of my life.
Then our moment of calm was shattered, split as hoards of armed mages emerged from the trees and walkways. We suddenly found ourselves surrounded, and I suppressed a gasp. Next to me, Cerina began to breathe quickly, stunned.
An attack, here? No, not now, please…"Fire."
At once, I saw a blinding curtain of orange light, as a volley of fire arrows came flying at us from all directions.
"Dad!" a weight pushed me to the ground, next to the bush, as I curled up, and I turned to see Cerina standing by me, arms stretched out.
Too late, I realized what she was doing. "No, Cerina! You can't—"
I was too late to stop her. She was suddenly being pierced by the shower of blazing arrows as they hurtled down on the two of us, every thud of an arrow meeting flesh extricating a scream from my daughter. And yet, she stood, as the smell of burning flesh washed over us, as her dress, her skin, was burnt away.
It ended all of a sudden. Smoke was thick in the air, but the men had already fled. I immediately took hold of Cerina by the shoulders, her clothes blazing bright with fire as it ate away at her. She didn't scream. She knew that she was already dead.
"Cerina! Cerina!" I yelled, trying to smother the flames with my hands, yelping in pain as blisters began to form on them. She was lost. Gone. And it was because she had wanted to keep me safe.
"Cerina…I'm sorry I lied to you," I finally shouted, tears almost uncontrollable now. "I was the one who killed your mother. She didn't leave. I'm so—sorr—s—"
I fell down to my knees, wretched, angry that I had to allow my daughter to leave the world knowing the most terrible truth I could ever bestow upon her. I cried now, knowing that nothing in the world meant anything to me. Rose had died in anger. Cerina would too. I was the cause of all their pain. It was because I was so selfish, so—
"Dad…it's alright," her voice came, dying away. "I'll tell mum—you're—sorry…"
Then I could only watch through tear-misted eyes, as she burnt alive. Her face disappeared in the flames, still refusing to show any pain. And she soared away from the world, now only ashes and embers, like glowing petals of fire that blew away on the wind.
She was gone. Had she forgiven me? I didn't know.
I planted roses in Cerina's windowsill. Everyday, I watered and watched them, waiting for them to grow.
The bright blooms came soon, blood-red and glorious. They recounted to me the love story of Rose and I, and I almost cried to remember the joy in her eyes on our first close meeting, the love at our wedding, and the pain at her death. They recounted to me the tale of Cerina, of how she had escaped death at five years old, the tale of her love, her hope and her final sacrifice.
Looking out the window, the roses were superimposed against the vast sky, almost like a floating ocean, the plant's buds and flowers pointing heavenwards, towards my past and towards those closest to me.
They were like an offering on my part, to the two whom I had loved and had killed. I had come to accept everything that happened, no longer trying to deny it. The roses were a plea for their forgiveness.
And I hoped, in this darkening world of mine, that they would hear my pleas, here the endless calling of my soul as I tried once again to leave this maze of guilt that now held me.
A butterfly had landed on the petals of one of the roses. Its wings were held high, the riot of colours decorating them exactly the same as that one I had seen with Cerina, the very last one we had seen together.
Forget everything in my old life. Stop destroying, start anew.
Then and there, I saw the gates open, saw the skies greet me with wide arms, refreshing winds. And I felt as if I had suddenly been freed of my prison, the prison in which I had been held for almost a decade.