Greetings Readers, Writers and Precious Patrons! In case you were unaware, May is National Short Story Month. As part of this month, representatives from the All Authors Publishing House will be stopping by to share snippets of their short stories.
About the Author:
C. Desert Rose is a writer who has an immense affinity for all things inexplicable. She is the creator of the “Fate’s Endeavor”
series, which explores the realms of angels and demons and meshes them
with themes of love and loss. The very first book in this dynamic
collection, “If Death Should Love Me” was released on October 31, 2014.
In addition, C. Desert Rose has authored several short stories—independently released works “A Tragedy: The Short Story of Fox and Tango” and “Crimson on a Black Rose”, along with “Her A to Z” in the All Authors Publishing House Anthology “Concordant Vibrancy: Unity“. Ms. Rose’s most recent work is titled “Nethanyel’s Lady Lune“.
Title: Crimson on a Black Rose
Link: Smashwords
Genre: Dark Teen Drama
Blurb:
A drop of crimson blood on a tattered
black rose was all she has left of him—the guy that she loved.
Rayne remembers her days with the boy
that stole her heart. Jay was the love of her young life. Future plans arose,
love bloomed, time spent made their connect unique. Until the day it all came
crashing down.
What happened to the love that they
had?
Take a trip of wrath and remembrance
with Rayne.
Excerpt:
A
droplet of blood on a black rose. That was all I had left of him.
How
did we get here?
What
happened?
That
was it—just a single drop of crimson blood on a rose as dark as the abyss of my
heart.
How
quickly had our love wilted. As rapidly as this tattered rose eventually would,
I was sure. And just as swiftly, I’d lost my will to go on.
His
voice…
I can
still hear it clearly for some reason. “Rayne, baby,” he whispered, his warm
breath tickling the minuscule hairs of my inner ear, making rivers of chills
flow all over my body. “I love you.”
Why
is it that memories can sometimes be as genuine as reality—sometimes feel just
as authentic?
How
odd.
When
I close my eyes I relive each moment. Feeling the touch of his fingers on my
skin, his warm breath teasing my lips, his tepid body pressed against my back
spooning me with care. “I love you too, Jay.”
Memories
spring up of a certain tenderness in my voice whenever I spoke to him, yet now
I wonder if it was just a figment of my imagination or if it actually happened.
I know what I felt inside. He made me weak. He had this magical effect on me,
the kind that always made a girl feel like she was dreaming and wasn’t quite
there. That feeling that you get when you’re deeply in love—it’s that
inexplicable flare that makes you think that you’re not really there, but it’s
all just a dream.
That
was the type of connection we had, Jay and I.
It’s
funny to me, because in retrospect our romance seemed something like a montage of
a romantic movie. The ones where the extraordinarily happy couple bask and skip
in a field of green, with puffy clouds and a perfectly sunny day to accompany
them. Where white linens aimlessly and uselessly float around while they hold
hand and kiss delicately, love filling their eyes.
Was
it really that way?
I
don’t know—but that’s what it felt like, and for me, that was enough
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