Rings Around the Rose

‘Rings Around the Rose’

Alone. The empty hollow feeling of seclusion and bitter holes. This is all she can feel. And yet she was never alone before. The smiling faces that complimented the tremendous love directed towards her had never allowed her this disastrous emotion. And so she longed for it, with an unsurpassed lust. Now she doesn’t want it.
The face in the mirror is not her own. The wrinkles are not that of stubborn harshness nor years of affection. No, now they show an affair between herself and the devil, an inclusion of sin and denial all present on her face, kneaded into her skin through the brutality of time.
Hello, she calls softly to the unfamiliar face. It does not respond. Something about the way this reflection holds unseen tears tells her it will never respond. There are no words this broken heart could bring itself to say without ripping the carefully stitched seams of unfeasible hope. It sings silently of her same painful fears. The hurt she feels to truly have given up on the love and trust she had with her, the pain she conceives now that her heart cannot beat, and her soul cannot breath. At least not as they once did.
She holds her bony withering hand to her face with her eyes still glued to the reflection. The mirror image
responds and does the same, its eyes pleading her not to do what it knows the woman will. The woman hopes to find comforting words for the mirror, but they would all be vain lies. So she says nothing.
The ring on her hand glitters in a rainbow of memories. She hopes they can tell her something, tell her to stop, but alas, they do not. The memories are empty and blurred. She finds that they are no longer memories. Only images and sounds.
Lifting her other hand to her ring finger, she removes the ring. She pauses before setting it down, and leaves the potential escape in her scabby palm. Maybe, just maybe her children would come back to her. Maybe the image of her husband’s face could mean something.
But they do not.
Finally, with regret shining in her eyes, she sets the ring down on the bureau below the mirror. She keeps her hand on top of it, her eyes refusing to waver from the back of her hand. But then she hears his voice. The voice that she promised to herself is an escape. But deceit is an easy course to fool oneself with. Yet she stays hopeful, even now with the empty ring of his voice matching the tone of her expiring soul.
She is ready to try again. Another shot at either finding herself, or losing herself completely. Maybe she will find an incentive to go back to her previous life. She knows that this is only wishful thinking, that every night her attempts are futile. But without it she will truly die. There will be nothing left for her to live for, whereas now she at least has a wish for emotion. For her heart to skip with joy, or to bleed in sorrow. Something to feel would be more than enough. Sometimes she thinks of death, but she is not brave enough for it. Not without one more tear. Not without one more laugh.
The voice calls to her again and she pulls her hand slowly from the ring. Looking from the ring to the mirror woman and back again, she knows which road she will pursue. But the voice’s source is growing impatient, and she is forced to part from her thoughts.
Goodbye. She calls softly. Goodbye.

‘Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.’