Notes

The Traveler and his Roses

-Beauty doesn't equate purity, as ugliness doesn't equate wickedness.-

-Shallowness will devour you.-

-Premature judgement leads to unhappiness.-

-Beauty is found in the most unlikely of places.-

One day a man stood on a forked road. He had been a weary traveler ever since his best friend had died, God forbid he was asked to remember how long ago that was. He enjoyed the cheap pleasures of life, and wasn't against the philosophy of living fast and dying young. Having said that, he was fraught with addiction, riddled with scars from street fights, and plagued with a deep melancholy in the pit of his chest.

His perspective of reality was as followed, "If I am to live such a mundane life, without the one I loved most, I shall live with reckless abandonment. I have nothing to life for, and any sweet pleasure to die for."

With those words he more often than not reiterated to himself several times a blurry year, he made his choice.

On the left path, there was an enchanting, golden glow emitting from the forest entryway. The slim, curving trees stood welcomingly, with their lush, fruit ripe limbs smiling sweetly into his hallow face. On the grassy ground, a plethora of blue roses lay, seemingly thornless. They were baby blue like a clear autumn sky. Eyeing the peachy fruit up once more, the man's stomach growled. At this moment, he realized that he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. An hour ago, three days ago, a week? It hadn't really crossed his mind, he had only focused on his bare feet against the rough trails, unable to meet the lively eyes of others.

He tore his gaze away from the mesmerizing overt nature of the woodlands.

On the right path, the trees held a ragged hollowness to them. They curved deeper than the left's beautiful display, and their skinniness was haunting, rather than flattering. The bare limbs of these trees bore no delicious fruits or delicate blossoms. Most of the forest floor appeared to be barren, stained like the dirt on the man's calloused feet. Even though his eyesight had decayed over the prolonged period of bodily neglect, the traveler could still notice a few wilted roses, and they adorned vicious, twisted pricks on their drooping stems. He of course felt himself to be hideous and unloveable, but even the broken one's nose turned up at the sight of such utter ugliness.

He had made his choice, settling with the serene forest. And with an undeniable perk in his step, the excited man hurried to greet the undoubtably warm grass and succulent fruit awaiting him. A short pleasure overtook him, before that thought who always stole his happiness away whispered in his ear.

"I wish he was here right now."

The traveler's previously relaxed shoulders tensed up once more, and he regained a white-knuckled grip on his dirty backpack. His walking had slowed down, moving in a depressed rhythm while watching his slanted toes.

That's when he noticed it.

The pale roses he had once complimented raked against his scuffed legs, tearing painful gashes into him. He winced a moment later with a delayed reaction. He was so deep in thought he had barely noticed the blood oozing out of the fresh cuts; so he continued the trail, and chastised himself for believing the roses to be thornless.
Up next, he came across a patch of moist dirt, which appeared quite fertile. The man contemplated walking around it respectably, and avoiding the chances of crushing a baby plant's body. But he didn't. He took a risk for some sort of high, even if it was merely defying his own morals.

His foot sunk.

It must be muddy, he thought.

But he could not step back, for his other foot had begun to sink as well.

He felt bewildered, and turned around expectantly. For what, he had no clue.

The blue hue of the roses withered in a warped speed, and their proud petals began to shrivel away into a meek gray. Suddenly, their vines started swaying to and fro, like a charmed snake.

Now he must be seeing things. He was tripping out. Had he taken anything recently? Why couldn't he remember anything?

His knees were covered now, the ground sucking him into its depths. The thorny vines wrapped around his appendages, drawing blood, and digging deeper.

He felt nothing.

The corrupted purity wrapped around his neck, in a final comfort.

As the world faded for the suffocated traveller, a bird from the neighboring forest flew overhead. Her wings were tropical, and she smelled of the sweetest of cherries. The ugly forest entry was just that, an entry. Inside was a paradise. It may not have been as beautiful as the seductive blue rose woods, but it was amiable, convivial, and moderately populated with mild mannered deer, a noisy bunny family, and many other unique creatures. It was a shame most held a shallow outlook, and were unable to see anything in something other than perceived perfection.

So ends the tragedy of the weary traveller.