The Story of a Rose Petal

Gara2 ada tugas inggris gw jadi bikin beginian… lemme know what you think guys! Thanks!

I used to be part of a whole. A part of something really beautiful. Yes, a petal I am, a petal of a rose. What a twist of fate that I end up here, telling this to you all, don’t you think? Sit down and relax for a while, and let me tell you my story, of how I got here in the first place.

As I said, I used to be a part of a whole. My “community”, the rose flower which I was part of, grew in a very beautiful garden in Jakarta. The garden itself was like a piece of heaven on earth, teeming with all kinds of flowers, artfully arranged. Something you wouldn’t expect to see in someone’ backyard. In the center was a beautiful gazebo, nestled underneath a canopy of flower trees. The gazebo housed a piano, and each day the Master would come and play beautiful melodies for everything in the garden to hear.

Everytime the Master plays his beautiful songs, the whole garden would rejoice: the birds and chipmunks sing along; the trees sway according the rhythm, and the flowers would bloom brighter to complement the beauty of the song. My Flower, which grew nearer to the house, would be among the first to hear the Master’s approach, and we would excitedly herald his coming to everything else in the garden.

However, not everytime would the songs be bright and happy: sometimes they would be dark and sad; sometimes they would be so sorrowful that I think even the happiest plant on earth couldn’t help but shed a tear when they hear it. At these times, the whole garden would change also. The birds would sing along the mournful tune, the trees would seem to stoop under the weight of the sorrow, and we the flowers would darken.

So that’s everyday life in the garden, everyday we would mirror the Master’s emotions, which he conveys through his songs. He took care of us daily, watering and pruning us with the love only a true gardener has. He was our best friend, and we were his. It was a beautiful life.
Then came a day when the Master’s song sounded like something we’ve never heard before. As we listened in, we began to feel an emotion we have never felt before in any of his songs. What we felt in this song was a mixture of longing, loneliness, admiration, transfixion and confusion.

We were confused ourselves, and for some time we struggled to find the meaning of this song, of this emotion that he’s feeling.

Then we understood:

Our Master had fallen in love!

Oh how the garden rejoiced at this revelation, I could never tell you. It all made perfect sense. He was still very young, after all, still a high school student! We were all happy, and as the days went by we strived to give our support and encouragement to our beloved Master the only way we could: by changing ourselves to complement his emotions, which he conveys through his songs.

The days turned to weeks, until one fateful day. That day he went straight into the garden as soon as he got home. We eagerly awaited him to play his song again but he didn’t. We watched as he circled around the garden, apparently looking for something, until finally his eyes rested upon my Flower. He smiled, and reached out to take us. It was then that we all understood: he was going to pop the question! Oh how we were all so excited! Without hestitation, we, that is, my Flower, gave ourselves up happily. Even though it meant that we would die soon and never again hear our beloved master’s song, we were so happy to be a part of something that means so much to our Master that we hardly cared. He picked us from our shrub and placed us in a glass in his bedroom to await the following day. A rose for the maid, how romantic!

The next day we were taken to his school, and settled as he awaited the perfect time. From the inside of his partially closed bag we could see our Master’s tension. He could barely concentrate on the lessons!
The moment finally came: he took us from his bag and presented us to her, eyes shining with expectation. We were excited too, filled to the brim with expectation. But then we saw her face, saw her lips move. We couldn’t understand human language, but from our Master’s reaction and the look on his face we knew that things didn’t go right. We felt totally helpless as the girl turned to leave, and our Master recoiled in shock and disappointment. Absently the Master’s hands fumbled with us, picking the petals, including me. One by one we fell to the ground, broken, in semblance of our Master’s own heart, mirrorring his emotions, as our last service to him.

It’s been two days since then, and even though by some miracle I haven’t been swept away by the cleaning department, slowly but surely I begin to rot. As I sit here in the last moments of my life, my thoughts constantly wander to my beloved Master. I don’t know if he will ever recover from that experience. I don’t know what will happen to the beautiful garden, but one can only imagine what it would look like now. Neglected? Possibly, at least for a while. But we know one thing for sure, it would never have looked darker and more sorrowful before.
End

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
-William Shakespeare, in Romeo and Juliet