Black Roses

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

A robin with an orange belly flew down to the grass and searched for worms. It pranced about the yard. The grass was really green. It wasn't brown like some of the other yards. The owner needed to mow the grass. It was getting long. There were several large gardens near the fence. The owner had planted lots of perennials. There was an abundance of coneflowers, sweet peas and black-eyed susans a clump of white daisies were grown near the porch. The number on the house was seven. Was it going to be an unlucky number? The porch was a large closed in veranda with lots of windows. The trim was painted a darker blue than the rest of the house. The shutters were also dark blue. On two of the windows on the ground floor there were some window boxes filled with impatiens and geraniums. The colors were magenta pink and a vivid luscious red. It was almost the color of cadmium.

The warm rays of the sun shined down on the gardens, warming the tender petals. There was a soft breeze that made them sway. The daisies became a tangled mass and then stopped moving a few minutes later. It was fifty degrees out. It was unusual weather for October. Would the weather change to match the dreariness of ivory black roses?

The robin disappeared from the grass and flew away. There was a worm dangling from its mouth. There was a baby bird somewhere that needed the nourishment. The worm's tragic life was almost at an end. Whoever lived inside the house was completely unaware of what would be the future.

Suddenly a mail truck drove up and down the street delivering mail. The blue cape had a mailbox at the end of the driveway. It had a picture of lilacs on the side of the mailbox. The owner bought it online and replaced the old mailbox. The old one had been hit with a baseball bat one evening.

The mail truck stopped at their mailbox. The postman opened it a put in the mail. It consisted of several catalogs, some bills and a large manila envelope. The mailbox got closed and the mailman drove away. The mailman looked back and hesitated. He had seen the black roses and wondered who had sent them. He wondered about the threat of death.

The large blue door of the cape opened and a woman walked out. She had long curly blond hair, fair skin and baby blue eyes. She was five foot seven inches. She was wearing a navy blue oxford shirt and a tan skirt that ended below her knees. Her shoes were black flats. She wore a necklace that was filled with red hearts. It looked like an antique. Her fingernails were well manicured and painted a fancy pink color. It was the color of rose petals.

She stepped out of the porch and walked down the driveway. First she opened the door to her green Honda Oddessy. She grabbed a day old black coffee cup out of the car. The woman walked to her mailbox and retrieved her mail. She was startled by the black roses. Some of her mail was heavy. She walked back towards the porch. On the way she admired her coneflowers. Those were her favorites. Even though her hands were full, she managed to stop and clip a few pink roses from her nearby rose bush. She had planted many roses over the last few years. She had bought many of them with her Chase credit card. She had several different cards that were almost maxed out. She carried the cut roses inside. Later she was going to put them in a vase. She sat down in one of her green wicker rocking chairs. She had bought two of them for her porch. She had discovered them in a catalog. They were one hundred fifty dollars a piece. She loved them. There was also a little glass table to match. She desperately needed that too. The table was also one hundred fifty dollars. She also liked to shop at Marshalls. On an earlier visit to the store she had purchased a set of four poppy patterned tea cups. She also bought some yellow floral pillows for the wicker chairs.

Currently one of the tea cups was resting on the table. Hot chocolate was in the cup, but now it was lukewarm. The woman picked up the cup and went into her well stocked kitchen to heat it in her pink microwave. She threw out the black roses. She didn't want to be reminded of threats. After a minute and twenty seconds, she retrieved the cup and went back to the porch. She sat down. She grabbed the roses and saw her wedge wood blue vase on the table. It still had some water in it from yesterday. Some daisies were bent and touching the table. Bent daisies. Was that the beginning of a beautiful poem? The woman liked to write poetry. Next to the vase was a blue leather-bound journal and a Paper mate ballpoint pen was resting in a pen holder. The holder was decoupage with old fashioned stamps of ballerinas. The stamps had been glued on. They were dated back to the nineteen seventies.

The woman was thirty years. She was absolutely beautiful. She was very slender. She put one rose in the vase. As she went to put the other one in she pricked her finger on the green thorn. A drop of blood appeared and it dripped. The woman gasped at the sight of blood. She remembered back to her childhood when her best friend, Lila dared her to cut her finger open. She hadn't wanted to do it. She didn't like the sight of blood. It made her think of dead people. That long ago day, her friend had grabbed a nearby knife and sliced her finger for her. She had screamed and fainted. Her friend had given her a Scooby doo band aid. That day they rubbed their bloodied fingers together and made a pact to be best friends forever.

The woman smiled at her remembrance. Her friend lived in Kingston. It was the next town over. They were still best friends. There was a secret that the woman kept from Lila. She chose not to tell her everything. She didn't want Lila knowing all about her. Some secrets were best kept hidden. Lila would be horrified if she knew about Sarah's secret life. She also wondered if she should hide the fact that she was receiving the black roses. They weren't the first ones. She felt afraid of what they meant.

The woman looked at her finger dripping. She stood and went into the kitchen. She kept a box of band aids mixed in with her boxes of elbow noodles and other foods in her cupboard. She opened the box and pulled out a small band aid. She covered her finger. She went back to the porch and sat down again. She stuck the other rose in the vase. It tilted to the side like a melancholy rose. She thought of a famous black and white photograph by Andrez Kertaz. She remembered that she had a postcard of the picture.

The woman looked at the mail. She skimmed through the catalogs. One was an L.L. Bean catalog. Sometimes she ordered some of the outfits. She had ordered a woven white hammock from it last year. She had tied it to two of her birch trees. The hammock had come to two...