This is the tale of Rose. Born in the affluent New York
borough of Manhattan to Juan and Ivy Medina, a pair of high-flying corporate
lawyers, her life was that of a teen socialite. It seemed many that Rose was
blessed by the Gods, or was simply a sheer coincidence of perfectly formed
genomes, wrapped in a faultless swirl on Deoxyribonucleic Acid (depending on
your beliefs). She was beautiful beyond compare, a mixture of Hispanic and
classic English heritage, her skin was the colour of a rolling sand dune in the
Sahara; when she walked it was as if she was skimming the surface of the earth,
mixed with the daintiness of her figure, it appeared the wind or some other
natural force may bowl her down at any moment; she was intelligent, witty,
passionate and driven. To all intents and purposes, she was perfection. When
one looks closer however, it may appear there was a force of jealousy acting
upon her birth. Rose was lonely. She often felt as if she was curled in a ball
at the bottom on the ocean and the water pushing in on her from all sides was
the immense vacuum in her life. There was a vast opening inside her and Rose
was unable to equate what should fill it.
Many people seemed to orbit Rose. She was always in the
centre of a herd of people, be it at a party hosted by her parent’s clients or
a gathering of intoxicated chimpanzees from her school. She knew full well that
her so called friends were only after her money, the status of the association
of her name brought them. Her upbringing had taught her politeness and manners,
so her voiding soul was well hidden from those around her. The luxury of her
lifestyle had also taught her that there was many ways available to her to
alleviate her feeling that she was grieving for a life that had not yet ended.
Alcohol, Cocaine, Ecstasy. Just a few of the ways she chose to feel like a real
person in this society full of empty shells. Money was of little value to her,
so these things could obtained with a slight rise of an eyebrow, a small
gesture with a hand, to the right person.
That evening Rose was at the opening of a new nightclub; one
of her father’s clients had recently won a huge settlement and this was the
outcome. Rose was obligated to attend so as to see that the family was
represented. Carted off like an escort to a sweaty, balding man in his late
40’s. That night the remedy of choice was Cocaine. It reminded Rose of snow;
winter meant less social functions and less pretending. This night however,
Rose seemed to be sinking into a drift. The tumbling, swirling flakes began to
suffocate her and her consciousness slowly melted away.
It was a stranger that first alerted the club staff to the
girl in the toilets with dried blood over her top lip, sweating, cold. It seems
fitting somehow that it was an unknown who found Rose, despite all of her
admirers, those who follow her, none of these people who supposedly cared for
her had even noticed she was missing. An ambulance was called for, as were Juan
and Ivy, and our broken petal was rushed to Metropolitan Hospital Centre where
it was found that her snow walk had turned into an icy freeze: she was in a
coma. “My name is Arianne, I’ll be
Rose’s nurse.” A slender, freckled hand was extended towards Mr and Mrs Medina
as it was explained they try to keep nurses the same for coma patients due to
the fact that it is believed many can still hear or recognise voices, and
familiarity is a key part in the recovery process. The Medina’s weren’t
listening to the woman speaking. In addition to be in shock, they were
mesmerised by the tempest of auburn curls ebbing and flowing around her face as
she spoke. There was a deep comfort in her eyes. The piercing green wasn’t
intrusive, but seemed to reach tendrils of calm and comfort out into their very
conscious.
Over the months, many people came to visit the dormant seed
of the vibrant flower they once knew. Admirers, friends, family, all came to
visit, and brought gifts, and stories, yet there was no stirring from Rose.
Arianne had also been visiting Rose during this time, as was her duty. She
often sat in her room during a quiet shift and rambled nonsense to the sleeping
girl. Over time though, there seemed to be something else, the girl’s beauty
began to resonate deep within Arianne, she seemed to understand that these
people knew very little about whom they were visiting; generic greeting cards,
shop bought bouquets, these were not the gifts of true friends and family. She
hoped that her inherent nattering would somehow soothe the girl’s worries. A
soul in torment was one of the things Arianne found truly disturbing in this
world. After a few months Arianne began to visit Rose even on the nights she
was not working, wanted to spend as much time in the girl’s company as she
could. It was impossible for her to understand, but she could barely leave
Rose’s side despite never having spent any time in her alert company.
Meanwhile, drifting through blackness, Rose had picked up on
a noise. She couldn’t pin point what it was, all she knew was that when she
heard it the most vivid colours flew around her consciousness, hues and tints
that were previously unfathomable became those of great comfort to Rose. As she
gradually recovered, this noise became a voice, and the comfort she received from
the colours swelled and grew into admiration and fervour. She longed to see the
face that produced such beautiful tones; each sentence was like a melody.
Eventually, many months later, Rose awoke. Her room was
suddenly bursting with people she recognised, but none of the faces belonged to
the voice she longed to hear. After the hubbub had died down, and various
visitors had traipsed in and out, Rose was desperately seeking rest. The door
to her private room opened and a tall, slender figure was silhouetted in the
doorway. As she began to introduce herself as Rose’s nurse, she realised; this
was the voice.
“It… It’s you… I heard you, talking to me. It kept me
going.” At that moment, an epiphany hit Rose, she suddenly realised what the
void in her previous life was. Love. She
held her hand out and as her nurse took it, it was as if someone had altered
the saturation.
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