I am choked, my words lodged in my throat, stopping my breath. All I can let out is a feeble sob. You stand over me, dwarfing me in my spot. Your eyes are clouded, hiding something that words couldn't let out. A darkness which I couldn't free you from if I had it myself. You pull it out, the blade. Thin, metallic and dangerously sharp. I close my eyes, unable to watch as you do it, but my breath is let out, and my mouth forms words that I never would've said.
"Do it... kill me." So he does, lifting his blade. I hear flesh tear, I hear unintelligible moans of pain, and I hear a hollow thud. I open my eyes, expecting hell, and seeing worse.
You, knife forced between your ribs, and a scarlet river of blood. I can't speak, I can't feel. I am numb. The only thing can do is grab a lone rose, and place it on your chest, as it's leaves are tainted with your blood.
Little did I know how much hell that one rose would put me into. That innocent rose, a sign of love, and solemnity.
