Roses are very beautiful. Red, the color of love. Black, the color of death. Blue, the color of sadness. Orange, the color of happiness. White, the color of innocence. One touch of their thorns and it will stain your finger red. The green stem help the rose stand proud and tall. They are just like people in a way. So many types. Each one different as they are the same. But you see, dead roses are the ones that speak the loudest. They speak of eternalness. Something we fail to posses.
YOU ARE READING
The Little Girl
Short StoryComment on this story and I will read your stories and and comment on them. I could care less what the comment is. My other short stories I have written for my fans. Please enjoy them.