Story the Nineteenth:
XVIII - The Moon
Sleeping Beauty
The Burning Rose
It happened overnight, one may say. She vanished on her eighteenth birthday to go out with some girl friends (was she telling the truth?), and, wham!, they found her lying unconscious, pale as her blouse, on the cold floor of a ladies' restroom, with a hypodermic needle sunken midway into the blue vein that surfaced on her lilywhite left elbow -- most of the liquid within that syringe had already entered her bloodstream and coursed all the way to her heart and head.
Now she lies prostrate on lilywhite covers, in the middle of a hedge of thorns of plastic and steel that pierce both her arms... Eyes so shut, the sparkle quenched and the pupils filling the irises within. Not merely lolling. It even looks sinister.
"Put out the light, and then, put out the light."
An only child, a lonely child, a sheltered child; innocent and unprepared for her coming of age.
Here she must doze and doze, and never quicken from repose, till they bring her a flower of Burning Rose!
The Burning Rose... one of the few memories she had of her mum... Within the cloud above the sleeper's head, that covered the sleeper's crown --coloured with the dawn-- from the heat, was a dream, and in that dream grew the garden of Burning Roses, whose fire is unquenchable, and which the plucking of no man's hand can achieve. The nimbus cloud hung motionless between earth and sky like a great opal, like the one on mum's ring, if not like the UFOs in that sci-fi film which Aster and she had loved so much. Through the outer coverings of this mist, one could see balls of fire, and these were the Burning Roses.
"If I quench this flame... where should I find a way to light it?"
The dream was sweet, and it made him laugh and mutter in his sleep:
As the sun set, as he hurried to Thornrose to give her a simple box of chocolates for her birthday, and to explain to all of them what was wrong and what was right, and that both of them merely loved each other as friends or siblings... but, sadly, he could not. He could not foresee the heavy push on his back as the tram train charged against his prostrate form, struggling to get up. The box of chocolates fared far worse than the lad who carried it.
Aster is still, strangely pale, his spine broken, shards of backbone having torn the silver cord within. His breathing is shallow and painful, the piercing ends of ribs stabbing into his left lung. Still, life lingers within, young and strong and full of hope.
Neither he nor his childhood friend know that they are next to one another.
(Othello mashed up with the Burning Rose in The Bound Princess; basically, Aster is Cassio/the prince and Thornrose is Desdemona/Aurora. Aster is also the dreamer whose dream contains the Burning Rose)
XVIII - The Moon
Sleeping Beauty
The Burning Rose
It happened overnight, one may say. She vanished on her eighteenth birthday to go out with some girl friends (was she telling the truth?), and, wham!, they found her lying unconscious, pale as her blouse, on the cold floor of a ladies' restroom, with a hypodermic needle sunken midway into the blue vein that surfaced on her lilywhite left elbow -- most of the liquid within that syringe had already entered her bloodstream and coursed all the way to her heart and head.
Now she lies prostrate on lilywhite covers, in the middle of a hedge of thorns of plastic and steel that pierce both her arms... Eyes so shut, the sparkle quenched and the pupils filling the irises within. Not merely lolling. It even looks sinister.
"Put out the light, and then, put out the light."
An only child, a lonely child, a sheltered child; innocent and unprepared for her coming of age.
Here she must doze and doze, and never quicken from repose, till they bring her a flower of Burning Rose!
The Burning Rose... one of the few memories she had of her mum... Within the cloud above the sleeper's head, that covered the sleeper's crown --coloured with the dawn-- from the heat, was a dream, and in that dream grew the garden of Burning Roses, whose fire is unquenchable, and which the plucking of no man's hand can achieve. The nimbus cloud hung motionless between earth and sky like a great opal, like the one on mum's ring, if not like the UFOs in that sci-fi film which Aster and she had loved so much. Through the outer coverings of this mist, one could see balls of fire, and these were the Burning Roses.
"If I quench this flame... where should I find a way to light it?"
The dream was sweet, and it made him laugh and mutter in his sleep:
'O Rose,' he said, 'O sweet Rose, what end is there of thy sweetness? How innumerable is the dance of the Roses of my Rose garden!'At least that's what they say, what she denies. The stripling bedridden in his own hedge of thorns to her right, like a funeral pall of bride and groom nipped in the bud, doesn't say a word either at first. It's not by chance that Aster and Thornrose were both rushed to the emergency ward at the same time. For a decade and a half, these two had been the best of friends.As the sun set, as he hurried to Thornrose to give her a simple box of chocolates for her birthday, and to explain to all of them what was wrong and what was right, and that both of them merely loved each other as friends or siblings... but, sadly, he could not. He could not foresee the heavy push on his back as the tram train charged against his prostrate form, struggling to get up. The box of chocolates fared far worse than the lad who carried it.
Aster is still, strangely pale, his spine broken, shards of backbone having torn the silver cord within. His breathing is shallow and painful, the piercing ends of ribs stabbing into his left lung. Still, life lingers within, young and strong and full of hope.
Neither he nor his childhood friend know that they are next to one another.
(Othello mashed up with the Burning Rose in The Bound Princess; basically, Aster is Cassio/the prince and Thornrose is Desdemona/Aurora. Aster is also the dreamer whose dream contains the Burning Rose)