Creative Writings Flash Fiction

Me, My Roses, and a Holly Berry Flower

I love to grow a garden of roses. Every day, I take great care of it. Watering, fertilizing, and checking; never miss a day. Sometimes, when the mood is right, I make a bouquet, seeing my roses intertwined as one, dressed with the sheer reflective piece of cloth, and all being tied up with the reddest ribbon I have, but my favorite part is giving it to someone as special as those bouquets. Seeing them smile as wide as a crescent moon is touching to me.

As days passed, the roses in my garden started overflowing, and I decided just to give them out. Since making a bouquet take a long time, giving them stalk by stalk is what I do. I am handing them as if they are flyers with how crowded the town is. It’s a piece of cake to get the numbers down, but I didn’t expect that it would also bring me down as I see my stalk of roses scatter. Some are thrown away, some are in the trash can as I see them peeking, and some are on the ground being stepped on, showing their wilt. The quick change from a smile to an upside-down smile is very clear to see. 

Since I have some roses left, I give them to someone special who will always smile when I give them flowers. With my last bit of energy, I knock on the door and smile, ready to give them the last flowers. Except this time, they don’t and reject it. “I’m sorry, I just got tired of roses, besides, I already have a bunch of bouquets that you always give me. I have nowhere to put them.” I’ve heard rejection before, but this feels like a bush of thorns laces scars all over the outer of my heart. As I say, “Oh… well, it’s okay. I- maybe I went overboard with it,” I leave holding a rose, and its thorns prick me because I forgot to cut the thorns on this rose, and I think to myself, “Wow, everybody must’ve hated me today, even my own rose.” While I hold my head, hang it low, and sit on one of the benches on the sidewalk, I trace my path. 

A moment later, a girl approaches me, giving me a holly berry flower, and says: “Hey, trade this with one of your roses.” It makes me jolt out of shock because other than the fact that she suddenly appears, no one has ever given me a flower before. A piece of flower I receive makes my frown fade into thin air. She adds, “Loving isn’t always about giving, don’t forget that you also need to receive it as well. Only then can you say that love is mutual.” 

Hearing that gives me an idea. I start to assemble a bouquet with the holly berry flower she gave me and tie it up with the rest of my leftover roses. Seeing a different shade of red makes me wonder if I could grow another flower. So I ask her if she got another one of those holly berry flowers. She said, “Of course.” And I replied with “Thank you.” I run to my garden and start planting the flower.

Long story short, I’ve expanded my garden with multiple kinds of flowers. Every flower you can name is yet to be still there, but I will always look forward to trading flowers with someone and discovering each story behind the flowers they’ve given. As for me, I will always look back at my rose and remember the very first time I knew what love meant, and instead of just giving, I will never forget to receive some love too.


Author: Gregorius Beryl S.S.

Editor: Sitti Aminah Intan Utami, Vonna Meisya Saputra (QC)

Illustrator: Kenar Syalaisha Kanayana

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