A Dangerous Beauty
I started out as a delicate pink rose; purchased by a child to mark the first Mother’s Day after the passing of their beloved grandmother.
No one expected the meteor strike a few months later. I was washed in a sickly, green glow, and I became self-aware.
At first. I simply marveled at the world around me and enjoyed the tender care I received when the family came to visit.
But that all changed one warm, spring morning.
The youngest child ran her fingers along my leaves, and accidentally pricked her finger on one of my sharp thorns.
She cried, a single drop of bright blood dropped onto my leaves, and she shoved my pot away in anger.
I was hurt, confused, and frustrated. But I noticed a tingling in my leaves. I found human blood was the finest of all fertilizers I’d ever experienced.
It made me bigger, stronger, and I simply had to have more!
As I grew, so did my thorns. They’d prick the fingers of anyone who came near. I reveled in my success.
I became wild and strong, but no one wanted to come visit any longer.
The family pulled the groundskeeper aside, “Get rid of that thing,” they said. “It’s ugly and dangerous.”
My blooms turned blood-red with anger. When the groundskeeper came for me that night, I was ready.
When he approached, I wrapped him in my deadly vines, the sharp thorns pierced his body, and drained him dry.
I bathed in his blood, and when the family arrived the next morning, I was deadly and beautiful to behold. No one would try to be rid of me ever again.
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