The Rose and The Knife

"Rose of love,
Knife of death,
One last sight,
One last breath"

This i s a tale of a lover. This is a story of betrayal. This is a story of what happens to drive a man to kill innocent people.


1. The postman's story

I walked up the path pondering. Thinking deeply. Then I realised the birds were not cheeping – “perhaps they have migrated for winter?” I spoke quietly to myself .I then realised that without the birds chirping the world seemed eerily quiet. Maybe the thought of that sent a shiver down my spine but I don’t recall. I continued down the path – oh it was so quiet – not the quiet from a library but the quiet you don’t realise is there until it is. I could hear my footsteps loud and clear. I tried to step quietly but no matter how lightly I treaded – Thud, Thud, Thud. I could hear the steady rhythm of my heartbeat – Thud, Thud, Thud. I could hear something behind me but… No, it was nothing. Nothing at all – just my imagination playing tricks on me. I approached light footed toward the towering wooden door. The dark subtle brown of an oak tree or a garden fence. The wooden door was roughly 7 foot high with sturdy iron bolts evenly spread along its surface.

I remember that day. I remember it vividly. As if it were this waking second - I remember it. The sun full and shining. The birds chirping. Chirping a song you cannot repeat but will always remember. The sun full and bright. Not a gleeful bright but a mellow bright – like that of a torch which is low on batteries. That mellow sun occasionally hiding from your vision behind a dull grey cloud. Not a raincloud just a grey cloud playing with you because at any moment it could strike. You would be unaware of it as the rain starts to pour heavily on your back. That day walking up the path – oh I remember it so vividly, it haunts me while I’m sleeping but no it’s not enough it haunts me while I’m awake! I see it now obscuring my vision with unimaginable images. They flash through my mind like a strobe light. Blinding me at moments then toying with me then blinding me again. I suppose you want to know what happened that day. It was a fine day but it went horribly wrong you can’t imagine the horror I saw.

Eight of those iron bolts I counted symmetrical to the others on the right side of the door. It was a very plain door. Someone might have said it was ‘blank’ like that of an empty page yet to be written on or the blankness of a wall yet to be wallpapered but the main feature of the door was the large iron rungs as big as my fist in the very centre of the door. I can’t quite recall what it was about these iron rungs but whenever I think about then it places a bead of sweat upon my brow.

I remember it vividly – me knocking gentle on the door. Thud, Thud, Thud. Me knocking a bit louder as they might not have heard me knocking. Thud, Thud, Thud. Then a finally try I summoned some strength in me and knocked – very loud. THUD, THUD, THUD. Then as if a ghost had picked the lock on the mighty oak door it slowly but surely opened.


What I saw then was horrible. You can’t even IMAGINE what I saw. What I saw was a man. Not just a man but a man lying on the floor as if he were dead. He was dead. His throat was slit. The crimson liquid had spilled over the floor around him and onto his chest. On his chest was a rose. I have no idea why the rose was there but it was. But that was not the worse part because in his blood was a small grey knife. And next to that knife the murderer had written a poem in his blood.

You can’t IMAGINE what I saw I would describe it better but whenever I think about what I saw – the feelings and emotions of that day come rushing back. Why? WHY ME!? I’m just a postman - I was just trying to deliver a parcel. It was my job to deliver not to witness a crime scene!

I will continue about my story. Once I had scene the horrid murder that lay before me I read the poem aloud:

“Rose of love,

Knife of death,

One last sight,

One last breath“

Then I heard something.


That is all I remember.



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