The Hidden Rose – by Samantha Broadbent (High School)

Anatole France once said, “Love is like a rose. It looks beautiful on the outside… but there is always pain hidden somewhere.”
I had spent most of my life secured away from civilization. I was hidden; concealed by the walls of the three-story house and the dirty mysteries that filled behind them. I grew terrifyingly familiar with the sound of quietness. By a young age, I had accepted being alone. I had no one to be near or have near. I would spend my time watching the analog clock that hung on the wall, tick back and forth.
It had been one hundred thirteen thousand, nine hundred ninety-one hours by the time I was free. I was able to open the left window in the living room. I noticed a few days back it was unlocked, I assumed when the men were over they open the window and forgot to lock it. I have been waiting to make my escape. Once I noticed the window being unlocked, I made it my intention to make sure it stayed that way. When I heard the heavy footsteps leave the house, I made my escape. I climbed through the window, landing on the prickly bush.The sound of my breathing echoed through my head as I ran through the woods. The trees and bushes seemed endless as I reached out; grabbing anything I could get a hold of to push myself on. How long had I been running? The thought of being lost scared me, but the thought of being found terrified me. I closed my eyes imaging the eyes of my enemy, his cold fingertips brushing against my skin, the feeling of blood dripping down my face after I had been punished for misbehaving.
I recognized that the world consumes everything, satisfaction, gratification, loyalty, admiration, relationships, experiences, smiles, hope, and even something as beautiful as a flower was murdered by this evil, sadistic world, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Except exist and perish one day.
Learn more about the contest which inspired this story:  Nutshell Narratives 2019-03
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