• A rose i find creeping up my window, from my mothers garden. A beautiful blue rose shining from the moons light, so I picked it and felt my tight grip sinking my hands in the roses thorns drenching the stem with my blood. So i kept picking the blue roses everyday drenching them in my blood every night as the moon shined through my window. My parents soon got concerned as they noticed my face got paler and my hand was wounded all over and my cold eyes looked blank. So that night they went in my room seeing hundreds of blue roses on my bed covered in blood, then when the full moons light went through my window they saw me laying in my bed.
    They soon noticed that I had a blood colored rose tightly griped in my hands on my chest letting my last bit of blood drop from my hands. But they were happy that I died with a smile knowing I was happy that I made a beautiful pure red rose from my blood, and even though I was no longer alive I could still feel their tears drop on my cold rosy cheeks and hear their weeping. But even at my funeral that one rose was still in my hands dead but it's petals dropped on my cold body as they closed the coffin and prayed I was happy in my new life. But even though my rose had died my soul has lived on in every red rose knowing that is the rose of my heart and blood..........