Rose was first published in Darker Times Collection: Volume One in May 2013, after receiving an honourable mention in Darker Times Fiction's March 2013 Flash Fiction competition.
Rose
She never remembered entering this restaurant. It was sparsely occupied and devoid of any atmosphere. She sat alone, at a table stylishly set for two, with a single rose placed in the centre – elegantly climbing forth from a delicate glass vase. No one had come for her order or even presented her with a menu. In fact, no one else was even eating; those who were present were just sitting – having jilted conversations.
She glanced down at her watch and discovered it was ten o’clock, of day or night she wasn’t entirely sure, and it suddenly dawned on her there were no windows in the immediate vicinity – no natural light of any kind.
A dark shadow caught her eye and she swivelled swiftly in her seat to catch sight of what it was. A leg – like that of a spider – emerging forward from the darkness beyond the corner of the wall, insidiously searching for somewhere to grip onto. Then another and then a third, until it was reminiscent of a bony-fingered miser, wrapping his hand around his most precious chest. Disturbed, she went to stand up but felt as if her limbs had suddenly become chained to the ground – a terrifying paralysis had pervaded her person and she was left helplessly staring at the figure.
She tried to call out to the other guests, to show on her face some semblance of fear, but nothing would move, no sound would leave her lips. Then another collection of shady fingers – making their way on the opposite side of the wall – until it appeared as if the restaurant had developed hands that were enclosing the space. Then laughter, like nothing she had ever heard before, that of a child, gleeful and content, but mixed with the undertones of someone breathlessly sobbing – like a mourner amidst a nursery.
Her throat! Feeling had suddenly returned, but it was tightening – stabbing – like the talons of an eagle sinking into her neck. Her eyes glanced down involuntarily – despite her otherwise inability to move. The rose from the table had somehow entwined itself around her neck, like barbed wire digging into a hapless deer. She couldn’t turn around to beg for help from any of the other patrons, she couldn’t lift her hands to try and stem the entanglement dually piercing and choking her. She was helpless...
The doctor pronounced it was a death of natural causes. She was old and frail and that these sorts of things happen frequently. Those words formed part of the eulogy at the funeral – given by her son – and the family were somewhat consoled by it. People congratulated him on how brave he was to make it through the whole speech without breaking down.
He simply replied, a sombre smile on his face, “Dying in her sleep…Such a peaceful way to go.”
She glanced down at her watch and discovered it was ten o’clock, of day or night she wasn’t entirely sure, and it suddenly dawned on her there were no windows in the immediate vicinity – no natural light of any kind.
A dark shadow caught her eye and she swivelled swiftly in her seat to catch sight of what it was. A leg – like that of a spider – emerging forward from the darkness beyond the corner of the wall, insidiously searching for somewhere to grip onto. Then another and then a third, until it was reminiscent of a bony-fingered miser, wrapping his hand around his most precious chest. Disturbed, she went to stand up but felt as if her limbs had suddenly become chained to the ground – a terrifying paralysis had pervaded her person and she was left helplessly staring at the figure.
She tried to call out to the other guests, to show on her face some semblance of fear, but nothing would move, no sound would leave her lips. Then another collection of shady fingers – making their way on the opposite side of the wall – until it appeared as if the restaurant had developed hands that were enclosing the space. Then laughter, like nothing she had ever heard before, that of a child, gleeful and content, but mixed with the undertones of someone breathlessly sobbing – like a mourner amidst a nursery.
Her throat! Feeling had suddenly returned, but it was tightening – stabbing – like the talons of an eagle sinking into her neck. Her eyes glanced down involuntarily – despite her otherwise inability to move. The rose from the table had somehow entwined itself around her neck, like barbed wire digging into a hapless deer. She couldn’t turn around to beg for help from any of the other patrons, she couldn’t lift her hands to try and stem the entanglement dually piercing and choking her. She was helpless...
The doctor pronounced it was a death of natural causes. She was old and frail and that these sorts of things happen frequently. Those words formed part of the eulogy at the funeral – given by her son – and the family were somewhat consoled by it. People congratulated him on how brave he was to make it through the whole speech without breaking down.
He simply replied, a sombre smile on his face, “Dying in her sleep…Such a peaceful way to go.”