Into The Sand
11 roses in her hand.
11 roses that cannot stand.
1 rose falls into the sand.
The single rose, no longer grand.
My eyes flew open and instantly shut again due to the stinging white light. I slowly pried open my eyes little by little until they adjusted to the brightness. I recognized the smell of sterilized surfaces and instantly knew I was still in the hospital. I saw the dozen- now eleven roses- on the bed side table. I gingerly picked them up and started absentmindedly caressing the luscious petals that felt like silk. My attention was drawn away from the roses and to the door as it slowly creaked open.
My doctor came in and looked surprised that I was awake. He opened his mouth to say something but before he got the chance, I was on my feet and bounding out of the room, with the roses in my hand, down the busy hallway, and past countless nurses and doctors all with shocked expressions on their faces. I didn't care. I just kept running. I finally burst through the hospital's doors. I was now sprinting down the street, my ratty converse slapping against the pavement. Because that's what I do. That's what I've always done. I run. Every situation or news that is thrust upon me that I cannot stand, I fix by running. The aches in my legs help me clear my mind. The burning sensation in my ribs help me forget. This is what I did when my mother died. This is what I did when I was thrown from foster house to foster house. This is how I deal with life shattering news. And if I ever needed to run, it was today.
I didn't know where I was going. My mind was a blur, just like my surroundings. I didn't know where I was until I stopped and collapsed on a grainy surface. I was panting and dry heaving. I would've thrown up, but seeing as I hadn't ate for God knows how long, I didn't see that happening. My breathing finally evened out and my eyes focused enough to see where I was. The beach. I was at my mother's favorite place. This was where she came to think. This was where she came to cry. This was where she loved. We spent more time here than we did at our house. She absolutely loved the beach. She said her favorite part was the sand. She loved how you could pick it up so easily, but as soon as you closed your hand, you could lose it just as easily. She always thought it taught a lesson. She loved the colors of it. She loved the feeling. She loved everything about it. I sat the roses down in front of me. I cupped my hands and shoved them into the sand. I slowly brought up the handful I now had. The sand slowly spilled from my hands and fell. Onto the roses. I was suddenly overcome with this random rage. I had always kept my emotions hidden and locked away. And I guess this news had brought it all out. Now all the hurt and pain and anger I had ever felt was boiling and spreading it's way throughout my entire being. I quickly picked up a single rose and dug it under the sand. I dug it further and further until there was to much friction to push it down further. Once my anger had receded and edged away, I slowly pulled the rose out of the sand. The petals were wrinkled and torn. It's original beauty was now gone. It lost all of it's gloriousness and grandeur. Because of me and my anger.