To the lovers;

To the fighters;

To the budding romances;

To the broken hearted;

To the pained;

To the joyful;

To the craved;

To the wanted;

To the forgotten;

To the dreamers;

To the singers;

To the bands;

To the fans;

To those who, young and old, want it all and so much more;

To the people of the world trying to figure things out;

To the parents who want to understand;

To the bloomers;

To the Rose Kuro in us all;

This is for you.

The limo zoomed by houses and apartments full speed and Rose stared out of the tinted window watching the colorful blurs pass. It was a welcome distraction from the buzzing sound of her parents voice across from her. Their constant excuses numbed her body. A cold chill consumed her even with the golden sunlight caressing her brown cheek.

Her new apartment was close. Maybe a few turns away. Rose's lips pressed into a firm line. Thoughts of being alone brushed past. She remembered the long nights she spent in the townhouse just along the shores of California after her parents left for another one of their "art shows" far away from their own growing child.

"Some maids already set up most of your stuff" mother explained, muddy brown eyes never leaving the thick, tattered sketchbook on her lap. "You'll have to unpack the boxes that were shipped into today though."

Rose stayed silent. Her fingers fingered her own sketchbook. The smooth leather pressed against her palm. Only a small wave of comfort washed over.

Father didn't speak either. Too busy typing away on his laptop to notice the forced smile on his daughters face when she turned towards both of her parents. Too busy to hear the grinding of her white teeth over the hum of the engine. Too busy to notice her at all.

When the limo finally pulled up outside the apartment complex that was set up for the new Ouran student and a couple of others, though those three were on scholarship, Rose gave her parents a stiff hug. Her hand barely pat them on a back when the moment passed and slipped out of the door.

A wave of dust filled the air. The shiny plates blurred in the distance, but Rose didn't move until the black paint glistening off the limo faded into vanishing point.

The apartment door opened with a squeak. Rose stepped inside with wide eyes, not fully sure what she had gotten into. But they widened in surprise at the sight of the large leather couch pressed against the back wall with a flat screen tv on the other side. Though littered with unpacked boxes, patches of waxed floor poked out from underneath the wood. She glanced into the kitchen as she pulled off her coat. Grocery bags of pot and pans laid on the counters. Cups and plates beside them, wrapped in newspaper.

Rose tried to rustle up a smile, but the thought of parents not being there to help her unpack her first apartment ruined the good mood before it could surface.

She walked further. A foreign door came into view. A finger trailed along the doorknob, but she twisted in open. The door swung open, hitting a wall with a thud when it opened all the way.

A large table, crisp in white with a lamp underneath that shined a thin sheet of glass along the right corner. The rest of the surface was smooth and had a enough room to paint and draw on any sized canvas. Shelves lined the wall. One filled with different hues of paint, organized by shade and tone. Stacks of sketchbooks, painting paper and canvas board lined another. Even a large grey drying rack leaned against the wall, waiting to be filled with portraits and fantasy landscapes.

A lone canvas stood on the table. Rose stood in the door way staring back at the taunting stretched fabric. If she squinted hard enough, she could imagine her parents faces stitched into in so they could witness her becoming a member of the Kuro painting trio with their eyes even with the great distance between them.

Rose found herself sitting on the cream chair in front of the desk. A pencil in her hand, moving to its own content. Her hollow body sank deeper into the cushioned seat, but her expert hands never stopped drawing. And in her mind, she pictured her parents pulling the strings they sewn into her eager-to-please body from the comfort of the private jet.

I hope you all like the new version of Fighting to Bloom, now known as Fight to Bloom Or Meet Your Doom. It's been a while since of written anything but thankfully my writing isn't too rusty. Please let me know what you think of the changes. And I knows its a short one but I hope no ones too upset about that. The future chapters will be much longer.

Thats all for today. :) Reviews would be cherished by this country girl.