Roses
“I’m not fond of fake roses. You want to know why? It’s because they last too long and don’t get much attention, but people keep making them, as if one day they’ll get noticed and cherished by the person who possesses them. Why can’t people just appreciate real roses and stop using fake ones to show beauty to this world? They keep producing them, as if they define the true definition of love, passion, and lust.” The slender male figure turned away from the reader and looked up at the clear blue sky in disgust. “I know what you might think, ‘maybe the fake are for the best, so people can finally appreciate the real, and then people will stop creating the fake.’ But haven’t you ever wondered why people prefer the fake?” Turning back towards you, he looked into your eyes, his ruby red ones peeking at you through his jet black hair, he spoke with irritation in his voice. “How can people cherish the fake more than the real?! Is it because people are too lazy to take care of them? Are people so selfish and ungrateful that they would rather leave a fake unattended than make sure that the real one is safe? Make sure it’s well taken care of and healthy enough to survive?” Turning away again, the pale-skinned male took out a weapon. Not any weapon, but one, of which, the reaper himself would wield. Clenching it tightly in his right hand, he lifted it up to look at it.