saint Sebastian the Rose

by Glover, Michael W.

  Jessica looked at the door Father Donovan and Jacob had gone through and knew she should do the same, but she had made a decision: she would not accept. She turned her head and looked at the doorway, the one she had come through that day when she saw Sebastian for the first time. All at once her path was clear. No hesitation and no looking back. She laid down the sketchpad which had helped her see, and she turned and walked.

  She passed through the entrance to the courtyard and came out on the other side of the wall of the courtyard into the open lawn of the moat. It seemed as though every person buried there spoke to her at the same time, telling her the same thing, but she wasn’t listening. The green grass wasn’t very green in the dimming light, and the only thing that stood out was the light-colored stone creating a border around the monastery before the dark edge of the woods. She walked across the lawn and crossed that line of stone and soon entered those dark woods until she couldn’t be seen anymore. The woods were dark but there was one thing guiding her—the soft worn path lined with trees and stones.

  epilogue

  REALITY IS A FUNNY THING and is relative to the person. My reality had become one of disorientation: one moment I was safe in my room reading, the next I was fighting for my life and the lives of my friends, and then I was gone. They dragged me down into their world, into the darkness. I struggled my whole life to avoid that world, but it seemed fate had other plans for me.

  The grating sound came, and all I saw was the light being drowned out by a slab of stone so big it defied comprehension as to how it moves. I did finally understand as I saw it from the other side; it was set on massive steel hinges so large they must have been stolen from the gates of Hell. Or was this actually that gate? It must be. The darkness drowned out the last of my hopes as the arms that embraced me held me close and led me down. I could not see very well; the sun’s rays had damaged my eyes.

  I felt like a prisoner who had been thrown in the trunk of a car and was being driven down a bumpy road. The struggle was over for me. I had nothing left. Apathy set in and I merely waited for what was to come. The whispered words around me made no impression, as I had lost all interest.

  I am drifting in and out of consciousness, only the jolts of my body being thrown around bring me back. When I become unconscious I find myself back in my world, on my path. There I choose where I am going. In my new dreams I am not walking alone; someone is by my side walking with me, down this same path. I can only dream of that day.

  How many times did I think that I was dead and still I go on? For some sick and twisted purpose they have chosen me. I was almost there. From down in the valleys I climbed so high and within sight was the top. There was Jessica and that is when I knew I was there: I was on top of the world. How foolish was I to think I could share in the company of great beauty and not suffer? I was lost in a euphoria that blinds the senses. The signs should have warned me. I should have known. I reached out to grab what was missing in my life, to try to have something that wasn’t meant to be, and I was pricked for my efforts, my arrogance.

  Jessica is my rose; everyone has one, and the day you discover yours is the day that you will bleed. My heart bleeds with the thought of not being around her. I am bound by thorns, and they rip at me as I struggle against their embrace. I am brought back by the blows I receive because of my weak efforts to break free. Little do they know I do not struggle against them. My struggle is with a different foe—myself. My heart will not give up; it is the only thing left in me that has the strength to fight on.

  I know I am far underground now. Deeper than I could ever know and farther away from all that I hold dear. My wishes were always many, but my sense kept me clear; my reality was not one to be forgotten. Deeper and deeper we go—too deep. I fear I will never know the peace of the soft earth and never have a patch of ground to call my own. This reminds me of the old folklore I heard whispered:

  Bury them deep to sleep with the dead

  Place no stone to mark their bed

  And cover them with roses from their toes to their head

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