Rose – A Flash Fiction

Rose - A Flash Fiction

 

“Well, to be honest, I threw it away.”
“You did what?”
“It was just sitting there, all torn up, and old-looking. Who keeps stuff like that?”
“I do, you….” She bit her check to keep herself from throwing every cuss word she could muster.
“Never mind. How long ago was that?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“No, don’t tell me that was right before the garbage truck came?”
“Of course it was, silly. That was the whole point of me rushing to take out the garbage. I don’t want this stuff to fill up the bin over the next three days.”
“You are just too efficient.” She grimaced, as she knew that the sarcasm would be completely lost on her assistant. As expected he trotted off, proud of his accomplishments and efficiency.
He was new, he was good, and he was overly productive. He wanted to please her, and showed it by cleaning her desk more frequently than it ever had been over the last 5 years she had been working from home. Not that this was a bad thing, but it also was not the first time, she had to rescue something that he did not consider as usable anymore.
Bell treasured trinkets from the past, little items that reminded her of her Grandma, of their rose garden, and of the long summer afternoons spent together sharing stories, drinking tea and coffee, while savoring homemade cookies and cakes. Grandma Rose, as everyone had called her, was a lover of stories, always weaving a newly crafted web of intrigue, love and adventure, pulling all of her listeners into her web with an ease, Bell now tried to capture, as she wrote her own stories. Because of her, Bell had fallen in love with words. Because of her, she had become an Author. With enough work on her plate, that warranted, no, demanded a personal assistant.
Who drove her mad.
That envelope had been not just any old, torn envelope. It contained a picture of her, her mother, and her Grandmother, in their rose garden, a photograph that had seen better days. Bell had been contemplating of having it restored, and a copy made for her parents.
She shook her head, trying hard not to get emotional. After all, vivid memories of beautiful times were burned into her heart, and no photo or the loss of it, could be more meaningful than that. Still. This one was special.
Walking through the french doors upon the patio, toward the back entrance, she squinted at a small, rectangle something caught in the thick rose-bush, that flanked the small path toward the small gate. It moved fiercely in the wind, but the rose-bush had a strong hold upon the item, its thorns grabbing it, not unlike human hands holding on to price possession.
Sighing in relief, Bell grabbed for the envelope, which released with ease and gentleness into her hands.
A smile deepening on her face she whispered softly. “Thanks Grandma.”

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

This story was loosely inspired by today’s Daily Prompt.

 

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