The Rose Peddler: Happy Ending
As he drove down his favorite stretch of forgotten road, in his favorite forgotten valley, he sped.
The pine trees whipped past his window and a barrage of thoughts pummeled his weary mind. How did Manny know his wife’s name—was it really just coincidence? What about his suggestion of the special roses, or his precognition that Raymond’s wife would stay home after he presented them to her? Sure, it could be coincidence—but it could be much more.
Raymond, mystified by the sight before him, quickly slammed on the brake pedal, causing his car to swerve off onto the side of the road. Chunks of gravel shot out from under his skidding tires and ricocheted through the pine trees as his car came to a halt against a large dead tree trunk, badly denting the hood of his car. Ignoring the crash, he leaped from the driver’s seat, not bothering to shift the transmission into park or shut the engine off. He stood in awe at the sight before him.
Where was the flower shop?
There was no sign of Manny. No sign of the flower shop. No sign of the misspelled sign.
Where its ramshackle edifice once stood, less than twenty-four short hours before, now stood nothing but a shriveled and dead rosebush. Its days of emerald leaves and crimson petals were long gone, leaving behind only hollowed-out stems and jagged thorns.
Raymond stood in awe, mouth gapping wide open. Am I going crazy, he asked himself, did I imagine the whole incident? He glanced down at his feet, searching for the previous days tire tracks. Yup, there they are there. That’s swell, at least I’m not crazy. Manny couldn’t have just packed up and left town over night, it’s impossible. Plus there wasn’t even a single trace that the shop had ever really even been there in the first place.
Raymond stood there on the side of his favorite forgotten road, in his favorite forgotten valley, thinking of his new friend Manny, remembering his crescent smile and his sun-dried hands. He just continued to stand there, feeling the warm wind run it’s fingers through his hair and for one slight moment, he could almost smell the most succulent smelling roses in the world—Manny’s special roses and his thoughts drifted to a beauty.
A beauty that was not lost for all eternity.
Well, at least for twenty-seven more years, thirteen more days, forty-two more minutes, and eleven more seconds.
Ten more seconds
Nine more seconds…
Eight more seconds…
Thanks For Reading,