Roses On A Grave Novels & Stories

No amount of grand gestures could change the fact that she was gone for good. I gently rested my bag on the plaque marking her grave and slowly crouched down beside it. I didn't have a tissue or anything to clean the dust off, so I had no choice but to use my hands. After brushing away the dirt and snows and pulling out the overgrown weeds, I carefully placed the bouquet of roses on top. I plucked petals from one and scattered them around the grave that made it stood out like it was supposed to, she was sweet, beautiful and different, and I wanted everyone who passed by her grave to know it. I couldn't help but wonder if she was at peace now. Did she know I was here, visiting her grave? Coul

She needed a moment of peace, a small solace, and that brought her here—to her parents’ grave. Her pace slowed when she approached the headstones. Two bouquets of flowers were already rested atop her parents’ stone. Both of them. Rosa’s expression remained calm, but a flicker of surprise passed through her. She knelt slowly before her mother’s grave, tilting her head to examine the flowers. Then glanced around the quiet cemetery, scanning for anyone who might have left them by mistake. But there was no one else. Rosa stared at the flowers. Confusion knitted her brows. They were also white roses, just like the bouquet she carried, and looked fresh as if placed there only moments ago.

And the blush that was barely receding was back again. "I'm not a pretty little flower, Roses are as pretty as they are dangerous." He scoffed, standing up and even from where he was standing, I could see that he'll tower over me. He straightened out his suit jacket. Eyes boring into mine. "The only dangerous roses are those with thorns Rose, and you my dear, you have no thorns. You're a pretty little flower, a harmless little flower." He walked towards me till he was standing right Infront of me, towering over me as expected, I craned my neck just too look at him. "I'll be taking my leave now pretty flower, say hi to Mr. Potter for me."

The familiar ache in my chest grew as I walked up the small hill toward my aunt’s grave. As I approached the gravestone, I noticed fresh roses lying on the ground. They looked as if they had been placed there just moments before. I frowned and glanced around, wondering who could've left them, but no one was in sight. With a sigh, I knelt down, placing my own roses beside the others. I ran my fingers over the stone, tracing the engraved letters of my aunt’s name. For a moment, it felt like the whole world had gone silent, like even the trees and the breeze were holding their breath, waiting for me to speak.

He had to offer the correct flower to the right tomb and appease Violet and her sisters. “Roses are true, but violets aren’t blue. Dandelions are mellow, while lilies are shallow. Sunflowers like shade and orchids are dead,” he read, then re-read it six more times. What? Looking at the epitaphs on all six graves, Zen read the names and identified their personalities from the quotes. Some were straightforward, while others took more time to decipher. “True love doesn’t exist, like roses without thorns,” Zen read Veiled Violet’s epitaph.

Instead, her hands stayed on her face, caressing and nibbing. ‘How did she get to this? She remembered insulting the man in white at the burial ceremony of her best friend. His beauty hypnotized her at first. His prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw had trapped her eyes in them. His silver glistening eyes devoured her own eyes, making it hard to look away.’

The irony hit hard. As we drove further in, we stopped in front of the second villa. I stepped out and gaped—it was the most beautiful one of all. Painted soft white and pastel pink, with tall glass windows gleaming under the afternoon sun. Inside, the living room took my breath away. Gold and blush accents framed the walls, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla—my favorite scent. What a coincidence, I thought. A woman, probably In her early fifties, appeared from what looked like the kitchen. She smiled gently and spoke quietly with the assistant. I barely listened, too overwhelmed to focus on their conversation.

In front of Rose, she was indeed meeting her husband's grave. Rose's eyes scrutinized a piece of land with one tall step. Slowly, she knelt down. Her trembling arms touched the damp part of the earth's crust that buried the body that Rose hadn't even seen for the last time. The particles of soil that she was now holding in her hands felt piercing. Rose didn't know what to do, but she desperately wanted to express her pain. Everything that had been pent up for a month.

*** "Sebastian? Sebastian! Sebastian where are you?" Gosh, where could he be? Zeke took the stairs to the back and proceeded to the green house. "Sebastian!" He called as he entered. He heard some rustling ahead by the rose plantation so he approached. He sighed he relief when he saw Sebastian sitting on a bench by the rose flowers. "Here you are." Sebastian didn't raise his head to him. Zeke joined him on the bench. Non of them said anything for the first two minutes until Zeke broke the awkward silence.

Grandma Rosie had once told Adriana she dreamed of Adriana's parents, Roger and Samantha, imploring her to take care of Adriana. To be entrusted is to be faithful. Adriana's sense of responsibility toward Chris likely stemmed from the influence of Grandma Rosie throughout her childhood. She crouched, brushing the dust off the photo on the tombstone with her fingers, and moved the camellias she had brought closer to the grave. Traditionally, chrysanthemums were used for memorials, but Grandma Rosie had loved camellias. Even while still healthy, she had instructed Adriana that when the time came, camellias must be placed at her grave.