The Rose Garden
February 1, 2002
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Homework
Antony sat on the bench and looked around himself, as if for the first time. He noticed that something was wrong but couldn't figure out what it was. The roses in the garden were still in bloom. The colors were as diverse as always; yellows, reds, pinks, the one miniature white. The little stream that fed the sweet smelling bouquet was still merrily tinkling, if a little sluggishly. He shrugged it off and thought of other, more important, things.
Antony's thirty-five years as a, relatively, free man was coming to an end. The Queen Mother was on her deathbed. He was the Crown Prince and had no brothers to whom he could pass the crown. Maybe he could run away. But no, he would be found. Too many people knew what he looked like. Maybe. . .
Something cold and wet landed on his nose, interrupting his thoughts. Antony irritably reached up to wipe away the moisture. Having been torn from his thoughts he realized that the little stream wasn't tinkling anymore. He didn't think anything about it at first because streams are supposed to freeze during the winter. Antony ran a thick callused hand through his short blond. He looked at the snow that was slowly falling around him. The previous nagging feeling flared up anew.
Then all at once the realization knocked the wind out of his lungs. There was snow in the Queen's Garden. He had never seen snow in this garden. It was unheard of. That meant only one thing, the Queen was dead, and so was the Continual Summer Spell that was linked to her to keep the roses fresh.
And that meant that he had to go and become the thing he hated most, the King.
NOTE: This was an assignment for my CCV (Community College of Vermont) Creative Writing I online class with William Noble.
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