Glass Roses


The package arrives precisely at 3 PM. There is a ‘Fragile’ sticker plastered on it. Sometimes, I wonder at his maniacal attention to detail and his obsessive punctuality. Next Second, I curse myself.

I unwrap the usual layers of cotton-wool and bubble-wrap and cradle the beautiful and fragile glass rose between my palms. This time it is a yellow rose. My eyes start tearing up on their own volition.

I place the rose in the vase among its sisters.

Six beautiful glass roses!

Six stolen lives!

I will nail the bastard even if it’s the last thing I do.

Written in response to the weekly Friday Fictioneers prompt hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. Please find other stories here



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