To Kill Hope

Cae peeked past curtains of gossamer that swayed in the midnight breeze, at a moon that illuminated his cabin across the study. Fractured moonlight spilled from his eyes and streaked his onyx-black hair with silver. The dying hum of a furnace doused with water failed to weigh his mind heavy with sleep. And so he gazed at the labyrinth of roses underneath his window.

The vacancy of spirit made itself known as he looked onto the curving path with no will to run through it. He was young, but the years spent locked away as a slave had aged his mind.

He sat against the wall and closed his eyes in an attempt to shut the incessant train of thoughts that plagued his very being. Just as the last ember of a forgotten fire crackled, he heard the heavy lock on his door click.

Clenching his eyes tightly, Cae hoped that the noise was another figment of his imagination - fit to be dispelled. He shifted to his feet when the door creaked open and candlelight danced on the bare walls in flickering shades of yellow.

Roses muddled with a hint of patchouli. The saccharine scent perfumed the hallway and raged through the desolate halls that had been swept clean by the wind. Vases of metal were upturned and shattered like glass.

The hallway led to another colossal door of wood latched with a metal lock. Cae’s diurnal routine led to him passing through the door thrice before being asked to retire for the night and as dusk fell, so went the small cabin turning into a cage. He couldn’t remember how many nights he had spent trying to pry the lock open as a young hostage - riddled with aches to reunite with his mother and sister, regardless of the warning of punishment, and loss of hope.

A rusted key hung from the lock, clattering against the metal latch. His mind dulled and hesitated while prodding the door open – hovering into another hallway mirroring the one he had memorized during the unending nights when his thoughts refused to wither into nothing.

This one was unbound by doors and walls, emptying into an open checkered floor. His bare feet pressed against the marble that was strikingly bright against his ebony skin. The ground seemed to shift beneath him when he walked through the fountain that spouted a liquid as lustrous as molten gold in the moonlight.

Oud. Cae recognised the aroma, dipping those restless fingers in the warm current, and felt a slippery sensation within the crevices of his rough fingers. When the wonder lifted and a breeze brushed past his cheek, he noticed that the fountain had blocked him from an archway of silver

Silver roses with tendrils of gold and amber decorated the doorway that led to the labyrinth of roses. Cae began to doubt his sanity, for he could have sworn that the garden had been at least a tower’s height away from his cage to observe.

He looked behind. The fountain was still brimming with oud and the door he had pried himself through stood tall against the bare walls, a darkness permeating beyond it. He let his fingers graze the stem of a rose that bloomed from a bush in front of him. The prick of the thorn reassured him that this wasn’t a dream .

Blood dripped from his fingers and onto the supple petal before running off the flower in a trail of black that denounced the red. A fervor overtook Cae, and setting rationality aside, he sprinted through the curved pathways of limestone bedecked with hedges of roses mounted in glory.

The cool wind whipped through his midnight-dark hair, running against him with a threatening force when he turned corners, his feet achingly weary of the ground that chafed his skin. As he ran past the rows of roses and the curving pathway disappeared behind him, he couldn’t help but relish the freedom that felt ephemeral. The youth that felt fleeting.

His feet were sore while his mind ran wild with thoughts - ideations of what life would have been like had he not been born a slave. Been allowed to live as he pleased. Despite being aware that dreaming of nights underneath a blanket of stars, away from stifling walls, was a fool’s errand, he let himself dream.

The moon watched Cae with a gaze she had harbored for those who were lost. She watched as he ran through the labyrinth of his diluted mind - his very being - before passing the threshold and slipping into the light.

~

The old librarian watched the dreaming boy with keen interest, and wondered how he had survived years of unknowingly consuming chrysalis, an herb that oddly resembled roses. Potent enough to kill.

He sighed to himself when the boy’s chest ceased to rumble..

The ghost of a smile curved his lips.

To a slave, death was kind.