Why Are the Roses Alone

A group of small red roses sat idly on the table. Clouds covered the sun, but the roses are tall enough. They’ve settled into the home, the vase.

“Where are they?” The table asked. It was small and round, wearing its favorite blue drape. It was cozy and only used for the most special of occasions.

The twin chairs quivered curiously. They loved to gossip, as chairs went everywhere and heard everything.

“I heard he left her and went drinking. They’ve been fighting after all,” Righty sneered. Righty enjoyed the turmoil. The drama gave him so much entertainment. Such things were needed to keep the ever looming boredom away.

Lefty scoffed, “Please! She’s the one who left. All he gets from her are half promises. It’s bleeding him dry.” Lefty was more the one for a quiet dinner. Things like arguments and fights weren’t necessary in order for Lefty to be entertained.

“That’s not wrong.” Table said. “You’d be surprised how many times he sits here, exhausted after a day with her. The poor boy looks drained. It’s not healthy.”

Righty sighed. “He should buck up then. It’s not like he’s got anyone else to keep him company. He should consider himself lucky.”

“However true that may be, he shouldn’t have to put up with the constant back and forth. The jealousy, the stress. It’s too much.” Lefty said.

The table nodded in agreement. “Perhaps it’s better then, that the roses are alone.”

“Perhaps,” said Righty not entirely convinced.

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