4 - Genecis Z.: White Roses

 

    When I was younger I was always attracted to things I perceived as pretty. Wherever I went my eyes roamed for the prettiest thing I could find. Sometimes it was a specific cloud, or rain drops, or a shiny star in the night sky. 

    On this specific day my attention was caught by the neighbor’s white roses. They were absolutely gorgeous. 

    They were nothing special now that I think about them again but back then I was a child, and to that little girl, those roses were beauty itself. And so like any other child my first instinct was to touch the white roses. When I did lay my small fingers around the stem of the rose I was shocked to feel pain. 

    I guess I just forgot that small detail about roses because I was just so enthralled with the white velvety petals and the bitter sweet scent coming from within the flower. I remember seeing blood drip down from where the angry thorn had penetrated my finger tips and just thinking, why?

    My young mind couldn’t comprehend how such a beautiful flower dressed in such innocent white petals could cause so much pain. Because to me beauty was frailness and elegance it wasn’t meant to be sharp or mean, it had to be perfect. 

    And then I wondered if everything that seemed beautiful hid it’s thorns away until it was time to attack.

 

    Years passed and I was older, and I still looked around for pretty things, but that white rose never left my brain once. Its existence shook me because my perspective on beauty was being compromised by the rose’s sharp thorns. 

    I now feared that everything I saw as pretty was going to leave me bleeding once I got too close. I was afraid to fall prey to blindsided beauty and end up defenseless because that rose led me into its trap by its appearance. Therefore if a simple flower could trick me so easily what could a person do. 

    And so I kept my distance from things that seemed too good to be true. 

    But then I fell prey again. 

    And then again.

    And then once more. 

    I was pricked by so many different thorns and bled from so many different places. But then I finally learned my lesson. Beauty is addicting. It’s deceitful. And it is everywhere. 

    Now I am sixteen and I understand much more. The world doesn’t grow roses without thorns, and beauty doesn’t exist without flaws. And I know the whole “nobody is perfect” line is overused, but it’s true. 

    I still seek beauty and I still fear the thorns, but now I understand that if I want to experience beauty I must uphold it’s flawed sides, because even beauty itself isn’t perfect. 

Word count: 461