Work Text:
Many moons ago lied a rose. She grew beneath a tree who held an abundance of apples. Her fragile sense of being, mixed with the shield of her thorns; forever protected by the rotting of unclaimed harvest. The apples sat beside her; dying next to a beauty was something that may be bragged. Her petals danced in the tree's shade and whisked in the cool breeze. For she was delighted to be in such a situation of love. Chatting with the apples made her feel secure. She had lived longer, and would forever had lived longer... if it hadn't been for the rot. The enemy of all life and all life to come.
One fateful day, an apple came to her height. The branches leaned down carefully, in order not to hurt the fragile beauty. The tree spoke in wind; for what we would think is silence, is a fury of sound. And an apple had came into her view. The lushness of the apple's scarlet coat was enough for the rose to bat an eye. For the apple was as beautiful as her; if not more. And they understood. Now both of them had a drop of intelligence. Not one of a man's but one of a mother. The sacred green fields and forests, life beneath the clouds, down to where the water meets the sky. One word to describe their bond. Inseparable.
They had become agrivated when the tree had chosen to lift the branch. So much so that the tree had decided to never again. The branch had stayed in place for eternity, the apple wishing it had that time. The apple knew the inevitable... but the rose failed to comprehend. For she had lived a stretched life and forgot about the slimness of an apple's. A gravely mistake on her end.
The apple soon came to weep. The earth's cries echoed her thoughts. Down the rose's petals was the sorrow of the apple. She knew. The rose now knew. The tree came down and whispered their thoughts. Drops of tears hit the grass. The apples sung a choir of truths.
Then they fell.
A short fall it was, due to the height of the unforgiven branch. The rose, wide-eyed was now petrified. Now her friend, one granted the same beauty as her, was fallen. Was rotting. A gruesome sight for the dear rose. But the apple was happy. She expected her end long before the rose took it into account. But that's not why she was happy. For she had the same joy as any dying apple of the bunch. Because dying next to such a beauty, may be bragged.
The rose weeped till wilted. She begged fate to have mercy. Each sob resulted a petal to float away. For love was enough to give her true life, though loss was enough to end it all together.