Climbing the stairs was easy for Santiago. He had climbed those cold, stone steps a million times before. Today, however, his feet were leaden and feeling so cold. Rushing through the streets of the village breathlessly like a speeding train out of control. Trying to escape. To escape what? Wherever he ran, he was still there. The cutting, all pervasive grief was still within.
Santa was his rose. A beautiful Peace Rose. You know the ones colored pale yellow with pink stripes painted on the petals and around the edges? That’s how she was. Filled with hope and passion. Exactly a balance to his often cynical and hopeless mood. Her heart light penetrated the darkness and now she was gone. Slipping away in the middle of the night. The worse thing was that he didn’t know what had happened. They were to do an autopsy the next day. He asked himself what could have taken her from him at so young an age. How would he go on?
© Carol Campbell
Thank you, Joy at Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer and Louise at The Storyteller’s Abode!
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