Rose

She was a rose, her stem copiously lined with thorns.

Red lace danced across her collarbone and hugged her shadow, the colour of rich blood, it was a second skin, an extension of her being. Her hair too, a vermilion red, twirled down her forehead, hugging her back and clinging to her shoulders, her cheeks pink with innocence. She was a beautiful rose.

As her drink arrived, the door to the bar chimed happily, excited with another happy customer's arrival. Silhouette dripping with an overwhelming sense of undeniable presence, the new customer, a man, placed himself beside the rose. The man was nothing special, but his lingering sense of arrival and even arrogance was able to catch the attention of anyone nearby, including the woman now sat just to his left. He was dressed in a simple suit and hat, yet his wrist sparkled a bright gold in the light as it jumped for any opportunity of exposure. The edges of his suit too beamed with cufflinks in the shape of a crow, whilst he bore a ring on his left finger, gold and encrusted with a similar crow once again, discrete and even unnoticeable to the common eye.

After brief moments of a subtle awkwardness, the man worked up enough courage, with a chuckle, to introduce himself to the young lady dressed in red beside himself. From that moment on, the two talked, and talked, their sounds of deep conversation interrupted only by fits of laughter, and moments where the pairs eyes happened to linger on the others, fish drawn to bait, and after a second too long, they would take a nervous sip of liquor and begin the conversation again. The woman, as one would, was careful to keep the man engaged but not seem two eager, never laughing too loud or allowing herself to become too comfortable, but was secretly wishing all went as well as could possibly be hoped. The man on the other hand, was enraptured in each moment they shared, fueled by nothing other than lust or desire, ensuring he kept the rose before him in his own presence, but never too interested in the words that spilled out her red stained lips.

Customers came and went, but the pair, they stayed for what seemed hours, left in their own reality, until disrupted otherwise.

Their waiter, newly employed, had a childish aura but was good enough in his current position, happily obliging to serve whatever drink the pair desired, not necessarily with perfection, or merely skill, but the two didn't even notice. That was until the waiter tripped on apparently his own two feet and caused the glass of vermilion red wine to spill over the white shirt beneath the mans blue suit jacket. The rose, being the kind lady she was, instantly went to wipe the man's left hand as the waiter began a profuse apology and explanation, flustering over the man's shirt and focusing on the edges of his suit, desperately wiping away any sense of the colour red from the man's memory. However, the man himself had enough and thought it best to leave, offering the rose his hand and explaining that they should continue this conversation somewhere that these incidents wouldnt occur. Unfortunately, the rose politely declined, resting her left hand on his own and allowed the man an explanation that she had work tomorrow and should probably get a restful night as the streets were already masked in darkness. So she withdrew her hand and the man left, although as he departed, his presence was no longer overflowing with the recognisable stench of arrogance.

Now, the rose sat alone at the bar and finished her drink before heading home. However, before leaving she took the time to seek out the waiter and make small talk, feeling only applicable after their work. After their conversation, she tucked her hair behind her ears, twiddled her finger and this time, as the woman dressed in red left the bar, her wrist shone brightly with golden flecks jumping among the light, and her finger on the left hand too, dazzled in the darkness, the encrusted crow perched happily, equally the crows of the cufflinks lay rested against her ears now, the vermillion red of her hair dancing around the gold. Indeed, the night did go as well as could possibly be hoped.

She was rose, her stem copiously lined with thorns.

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