by Robert Keal
Ahead, at the bottom of the garden, is a single blossoming rose bush. She'll rest happily there, I'm sure. All we have left are her wings, still sparkling with rainbow glitter even on this gloomy, grey afternoon. Nothing, nobody can take away her shine. Least of all that monster, chained up for his cruelty at last. A ribbon of sunlight streams through the clouds, and I smile slightly, imagining him rotting behind bars while she's flying high, filling the heavens with her love and laughter.
6S
Robert Keal currently lives and writes in London.