Fields of roses

(translation of the story "stúlkan með rósina")

Once upon a time there was a young girl. The girl lived in a small cottage, surrounded by large fields of roses. Nobody could imagine roses more beautiful than these. The girl’s beauty was more bitter sweet. Her hair black like the ravens in the sky, her dark eyes never ending black holes. 

The girl went to the market everyday with a large bundle of roses. People waited in lines to buy one, and everyday she sold every single one. The smell had a wonderful affect on people. Love was tendered, the desire blossomed and sorrow vanished. The roses gave away good emotions and took the bad ones away. They sucked in all the regret, anguish and the endless lies. After a few hours they turned grey and quietly died.

The girl had a father. The girl’s father was a bitter man. He kept all the money that they got for the roses in a big room. The girl’s father never had enough. He never spent a dime and the stacks continued to get thicker and the gold continued to flow.

The girl took care of the roses. If her father got to near they instantly died. Every night you could hear the girl screaming. Everybody looked away. No one wanted to ruin the sweet smell of the roses.

With every year that passed the roses became more beautiful but the girl started to wither. Her arms fragile and thin, her gaze empty, her legs trembling. At first people stopped meeting her gaze, than they stopped talking to her. Towards the end everyone believed that the girl was cursed. The villagers avoided her touch. Like her sorrow was contagious. The screams in the dark night became weaker until they finally came to a halt.

A month went by without anyone looking for the girl. Finally a group of men went up to the small cottage. A strong smell of decay greeted them. They fought through the neglected field of roses. And there they found her right in the middle, her arms slit open. The roses wrapped around her with their thorny branches in one last attempt to protect her. The warm dirt soaked with blood.

The men rushed into the house and were immediately blinded by bright light. A man size statue made of gold lying on the floor. Suffering in the ruby eyes, terror in the diamond jeweled mouth. The men began to carry the statue out of the house. At that same instance a loud crackle startled them. The roses were on fire. Unbearable grief filled the men when they inhaled all the hatred that the roses had consumed. They ran as fast as they could. Burning rose petals floating in they blue sky. Everything was lost.

The years went by and the girl and her father were soon forgotten. The memory of the roses lived the longest but in the end even they were lost in the distant fog.

But if you listen closely on a night like this, when the quietness surrounds us, you can still make out distant screaming and the quiet crackle of the ever-burning fire.