ROSEs By Denise Leppard

She was famous for her roses.
In their season,  great swathes of vibrant colour and suffocating perfume  filled the rosebeds sweeping across the green lawns under the heavily leafed trees. And the blooms,  enormous and bursting with colour, caught the envy of her neighbours. There was nothing anywhere else in the neighbourhood to compare with her roses.
They thought it might be something she put in the soil that made them grow so prolifically, but she wouldn’t ever say.  They even tried to  worm her secrets out of her numerous  gardeners, but they never seemed to stay long enough to find out themselves.
The neighbours were convinced she replaced each gardener  before he could learn her  secret. Old men; young men – here today, gone tomorrow, and in between the neighbours watched them  endlessly hoeing and raking and pruning  without ever coming close to discovering what made her roses flourish.
The night of the Big Gale  they found out.    All her magnificent trees  were toppled,  tearing up the rose beds  as they crashed to the ground.   In the morning, the rose bushes lay with their roots in the air, festooned with a display of tangled, long white bones  that had been ripped from under the soil,  and all  the gardeners’ skulls picked clean and grinning from amongst them.
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About highamwriters

A group of recreational creative writers and if you ask us nicely we will let you publish some of our work
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