I Give Up

So my life is a little messed up. I'm 14 years old, my name is Ace Alex and you'll see soon, my life is anything but normal. Family? School? Happiness? I don't understand.

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5. The Rose

 

            I get woken up by the nurse telling me that my ride will be there in about 30 minutes. I sigh and look at my arms and wonder how they could have possibly gotten all of the IV’s and wires off of me without waking me. I must have been out cold. It’s probably because of the medication or something. I stand, feeling a little weak and get ready to go.

            I go to take a shower and the water burns my cuts. I try to close my eyes and breathe deeply, calming down a bit. It works until I imagine my sisters’ blood flowing out of the shower head. I quickly open my eyes and turn the water off, jumping out of the shower and drying off. I stop and look at myself in the mirror as I try to catch my breath.

            I get dressed then realize they took everything that I had with me in the woods and set it on the counter in my hospital room. I slowly begin to pack my bag and then order room service. I order a biscuit and some milk. I’m not very hungry. I wait patiently for them to bring it to me, sitting on the comfortable couch in my room. A young nurse brings me the food and I smile slightly and say. “Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome,” the young lady, Jane according to her name tag, replies.

            She leaves and I slowly nibble on the biscuit until I finish half of it, setting the other half aside. Then I sip at my milk a little while looking around the room randomly, noticing the smallest details of the room. The way the floors are white, with light gray patches. I look at the patches, trying to make pictures out of them like someone would with clouds. The gray turns to blood red before my eyes and I drop my carton of milk. When the milk splatters across the floor I realize it was all in my head and everything’s ok.

            I sigh and press the help button and someone comes in to help. They call the janitor and he comes to clean it up as I apologize.  

            “I’m really sorry sir,” I say over and over.             “Calm down son, I don’t mind, it’s my job. Stop worrying, relax, you look tired.” He says kindly.

            I sigh and say, “Yes sir, thank you.”

            He smiles and continues to clean up the spilt milk as I watch him.

I must have fallen asleep again because the nurse came in and told me that my ride was here and I should make my way to the car. I stand and grab my bag, walking out without another word, happy to finally be leaving that place. They take me home and I run inside, grabbing all the things I absolutely have to have. I collect some clothes, stuffing them into my bag. I take a quick glance around and remember the rose. I look at my window sill and see it sitting there, dark red from being dried. I lightly, carefully, pick it up. I hold it in my hands and walk out to the car.

Getting into the car, my driver asks, “Why are you taking a rose? It’s dead, you know that right?”

I look at him and reply, “It’s really important to me, and yes I realize its dead. But nothing can replace this rose. It’s priceless to me.”

The driver looks at me weird but just pulls out of the driveway, taking me to the airport. I sit in the passenger seat quietly, carefully holding my rose and remembering the day I got it.

It wasn’t too long ago, my big sister’s funeral. I remember crying, feeling alone and scared. I ordered thirteen roses, yes thirteen, not a dozen. Walking up to my sister’s grave, refusing to do this in front of everyone; I waited until everyone had left. I was alone as I kneeled in front of her grave stone. I looked at her newly carved grave stone. The words “Lily Michelle Alex 1987 – 2009” are engraved on the stone. I’m crying, the tears streaming down my face. I take a deep, shaky breath. And slowly set the 13 roses on her grave. No one yet having evidence of who murdered her, everyone thought my family was perfectly harmless. Red roses were Lilly’s favorite flower. I looked at her grave for a minute and then bowed my head, saying a silent prayer.

I lift my head back up, slowly standing, trying to stand tall and proud. I was trying to look strong, even though I was shaking. I looked down at the flower and slowly picking one up, forgetting about the thorns and grabbing the rose by its thorns, it pricking my fingers. A few small drops of blood spill onto her grave and those few drops made me break down crying. That’s the rose that I hold in my hands today.

 

I realize I’m crying when my driver asks, “Hey are you ok?”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry, I’m fine,” I reply quietly.

He nods and goes quiet again. I wipe my tears away and look at the rose. I sigh and then look out the window, realizing that we’re at the airport. The huge building is finally in sight, the Seattle Airport, fun. Now I get to try to find my way to my gate. This should be interesting. 

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