• Published 24th Dec 2013
  • 1,425 Views, 26 Comments

Roses Have Thorns - NarwhalUnicorn



"Her thorns dragged holes deeper into her soul. She was irreparable. They would never know of her pain. They would never understand her depression. Her life was a void of solitude and imperfections. She was alone, except for her thorns."

  • ...
0
 26
 1,425

Roses Have Thorns

Roses have thorns.

The words mocked her. They spoke of truths, of depression, of sanity. She couldn't escape the words. How would she ever break free? They would haunt her. They would haunt her forever.

Roses have thorns.

And they would repeat. It was an endless cycle of haunt, then fall. The words would continue to rise from their fortress, and overcome her heart, until her entire body fell into the pit of depression. She knew not of the consequences.

Roses have thorns.

A thorn. It was a rose's one fault. A perk that would be transferred to the pony who carried them. A flaw that would not be broken. It would stay with her forever. The imperfection that would remain. The one that would drive away those who loved her. The flaw that would desert her. The flaw that would kill her. Or maybe it already has...

"Roses have thorns." This time it was spoken. Like a single voice, echoing through a deserted room. It bounced off the walls and surrounded her. The fog aroused and the words drifted through the air. The sounds did not fade. They stayed in her heart. They stayed there forever.

She was alone, except for her thorns.

Her thorns would never leave. That was the problem with a rose, you could pick the pricks and tear the thorns, but there would always be a hollow indent on the stem. It would remain. Not in its presence, but in its absence is where it will reign, altering the beauty of the rose. It would stay and haunt her. Her work was not perfect. It was an imperfection that left her lifeless.

Thorns don't bite. They don't have to do anything. Just let their sharp ends implant themselves into a pony's heart and they don't even have to move. Just let its shape, its touch, its feel do the work. Just let the pony drain themselves into depression on their own. The thorn is like a catalyst. It needs not any pain. It means no harm. It is just a part of life.

But life is dangerous, and thorns are especially powerful. Distress comes in many forms. One is as common as the air, as normal as a the sun, but as evil as death. Why? Because when a rose wilts, and a flower dies, the thorns remain. They never leave. They fall off the flower and remain in the dirt. Preparing to destroy another.

Roses have thorns.

"Roseluck?" A voice beckoned her with concern edging at its words. She did not respond. Her voice had wilted, like her heart, like her beliefs, like her life. She was a dead flower. A wilted mess. An undid dream. Why even bother?

Why even bother?

Why even bother?

"Roseluck, are you okay?!" Another voice drifted through the air. It beckoned warmth; it spoke truly. It wanted to help her. But the bearer would never understand her pain.

Her thorns dragged holes deeper into her soul. She was irreparable. They would never know of her pain. They would never understand her depression. Her life was a void of solitude and imperfections.

She was alone, except for her thorns.

"Please, Roseluck, just talk to us. Say something, anything!" The other voice panicked. A hoof brushed her side, spreading warmth through her hollow shell. The warmth faded, and eventually ceased to exist, like Roseluck's beliefs and her long gone happiness. Was she insane? Or was she just wilting?

"I'm sorry," unconsciously drifted through her vocals, her voice was raspy and unclear, but the noise was there. She wasn't even aware of her previous statement. All she wanted was to be alone; that was what she deserved. She was sorry for bringing upon them a burden, for desiring something more than she was worth, for disappointing them.

Daisies and lilies would never have thorns. They held beauty unlike a rose's faltered self. Daisies were warm and inviting, their scent as sweet as candy. Lilies were beautiful and decorative, with no pain or cause of suffering. They were both innocent and refreshing, something cherished and adored, something that did not bring pain, something that did not hurt. She was sure she was alone. Why? Roses were dangerous and distressful, symbolizing love and bliss, only to be taken away by the ever-present existence of a thorn. Roseluck was truly alone. She was an imperfect third of a trio not meant to hold her.

Roses have thorns.

"Oh, thank Celestia!" shouted a relieved voice upon hearing Roseluck's uncertain voice. But innocence has a funny way of quickly leaving, and Daisy soon realized the trouble brewing through Roseluck. Something was wrong. Silence erupted like a volcano of nothingness. The absence of voice drifted into Roseluck's heart like another thorn, expanding the void of her soul.

The silence did not go unnoticed. It did not end. It spread like wildfire, engulfing fields of roses, leaving nothing but the thorns. The thorns would not go. They would stay forever.

The other voice trembled in worry, "S-sorry...? For what? Roseluck, are you okay!?" Her voice drifted through Roseluck's mind, but did not reach her heart. Or, to be exact, what was left of her heart.

Roses have thorns.

"No," Roseluck's pleaded, "I am sorry for hurting you, but my thorns have killed me, and I don't want them to kill you. I must go." She looked up with dreaded heart and foggy eyes to a pair of ponies who were her 'friends'. She had no friends anymore.

She was alone, except for her thorns.

"NO!" shouted the two in unison. They looked to each other with dismayed uncertainty, knowing this was an internal problem revolving not around themselves, but the faults they had no experience of.

They saw a beautiful rose, Roseluck saw a wilted weed.

Roseluck dragged her head, and her actions began to resemble that of a lifeless burden. "I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me, but I need to go." Her voice was vacant.

She imagined cutting the petals of a rose, one by one, into a fast flowing, rushing river. They would drift away with the currents, and be gone forever. They would be gone like her family, her friends, her experiences, her life. All that would be left would be a useless stem filled with painful thorns and no beauty. It would be finished. It would be complete. Or would it be vacant? Does absence make something complete? Or does it become the opposite, something short-lived and nevermore?

She didn't know. She forget everything, all she ever knew. Her thoughts were entirely consumed by the everexisting words...

Roses have thorns.

She walked away from her motionless friends, hoping they would not follow. She needed to be alone. She couldn't stand hurting them anymore. All she wanted was to be rid of her thorns. But... Roses have thorns.

Roses have thorns.

Roses would always have thorns.

Would she ever be rid of that thought, repeating itself, revolving inside her mind? Telling her what was true, and urging her to take a step forward and cut the rose? Would she? No. Roses would always have thorns. Always. And then her decision was made.

Only if there was no rose, would there be no thorns.

Author's Note:

This fanfiction is dedicated to a few of my friends who are struggling with depression; I urge them not to take the route Roseluck did! Although, they probably will never read this because they aren't bronies, but oh well. I love them, nonetheless.
For so few words, this took a very long time to write, and was very difficult, too. Not because I can connect with Roseluck, I'm as confused as Daisy and Lily when it comes to depression!
This is my first attempt at writing a sad fic, so if it's bad, or if you enjoyed it, I'd appreciate some feedback down below! Thanks for reading,
-NarwhalUnicorn

Comments ( 26 )

:fluttershysad: *sniff sniff* It's just... so beautiful *squeals at the beauty*

3674236
I try, I try... XD
Thank you for enjoying it :3

What is she sad about?

3674259
Well, I can't really relate to depression because I don't have it (I don't even know how I wrote this :rainbowderp:), but I assume it's a mixture of many things that just lead up to her feeling useless and lifeless. The thorn actually symbolizes all the things she's done wrong, so yeah...

3674269 Aw that makes sense. I remember when I tried writing my first sad fic. Im still writing it and so far it is my most popular story yet the youngest

The story was phenomenal. I loved it. One thing, though. In the ninth and tenth paragraphs down, you use "it's" several times when it should be "its". You know, possessive form and all that.

3674572
Thanks for catching that for me, just fixed it
And I'm glad you enjoyed it :pinkiesmile:

Roseluck? did you ever think about it the other way around? Every thorn has its Rose. Do not dwell on the painful part but rather enjoy the beautiful side of it. Stay strong!

Compelling story, truly, but I have no idea why she is depressed. This holds little meaning without a reason. It was written well, but it had quite a few comma splices. But I'll like and fave it.

3743263
Given that we're getting Roseluck's point of view, I think giving a reason would go against her understanding of the situation. She is depressed to the extent that her depression is her state of being. She needs no reason to be depressed: it's just how she feels, and because she feels depression, it seems to her to be the way she is and how she should be. It's a very real, nasty, cycle that I understand to be the reason depression is a hard thing to get out of.

It may not be a help to the reader, but, given the circumstances, I think not giving a reason is the truer choice :fluttershyouch:

3743739 Wow, I didn't even have to justify myself this time... XD

3743739
I don't really think that being depressed for the sake of being depressed makes any sense. There has to be a reason behind why she is depressed. There is always a reason.

3747162

Roses have thorns

It's actually symbolic, the roses being Roseluck and the thorns being her flaws. If you analyse it, you can see I explained it implicitly. She is depressed because she is not perfect.

3747506
And what are her imperfections? This isn't about how much meaning there is behind an egregiously repeated phrase in a story; it is about why she is sad and why I should feel sorry for her. From what you said, she is sad because she is imperfect. I feel no sympathy for her. No one is perfect, and why should we be sad that we aren't? If it was an event that led to this, then why not say what that event is?

The main idea is that I don't care about Roseluck. It is sad that she is sad, but why is she sad? What has led her to be like she is? This is simple story telling, and I cannot truly say that this story is much without it.

3747572 It's hard to wrap a finger around depression because it usually is irrational. It says here that depression could be the cause of trauma, stress, etc., but sometimes it's as simple as a physical disruption in the brain or a genetic flaw. Even unbalanced chemicals in the brain can lead to depression, so sometimes depression doesn't need a rational reason to exist. I understand your viewpoint, but I also understand depression, as well.

3747594
I understand depression, too, but no matter what the reason for it, the cause is usually something physical or tangible. Well, in the sense that humans can understand it. The chemical imbalance is what makes the seemingly miniscule into something far larger.

3747680

Her life was a void of solitude and imperfections.

Another reason is solitude; she feels lonely, as if her friends don't understand her.

She looked up with dreaded heart and foggy eyes to a pair of ponies who were her 'friends'. She had no friends anymore.

She was sure she was alone. Why? Roses were dangerous and distressful, symbolizing love and bliss, only to be taken away by the ever-present existence of a thorn. Roseluck was truly alone. She was an imperfect third of a trio not meant to hold her.

This furthermore stresses her loneliness. There are more examples, but I think you get the point

3747162
There is always an underlying reason. My point is that once this stage of depression hits, the reason doesn't matter to the person who is depressed. They take their depression at face value and, as Rose shows here, let the effects of their depression (My mood is hurting my friends exc exc) get them more down. From an outside perspective, it's not rational at all, but the story is not told from an outside perspective, which is why not giving the reason is at least acceptable here, even if giving a reason would help the reader get more involved in the story.

I really love this.

I admit, it felt a bit too angsty to work well for me as a sadfic, but that's just my opinion. Anyway, added to Celestia's Library because it was still a good story.

tinyurl.com/llaz5ct

This story was like a rose: beautiful yet sharp. This is a brilliant use of metaphor, something just as impressive as those "e" stories of yours, if not more so. The story is simple, but the theme carries throughout everything said without getting overstated. Bravo. That's all I can really say.

A rose is the symbol for love bevause of thorns. It's a beautiful thing but tread carefully.
Nice fic btw.

That was nice. The repeating of the same words, that was very effective in conveying the feelings present there. Those thoughts never go away.
I love Rose. She's one of my favorites.

NarwhalUnicorn,

I can empathize with this story. I’ve been feeling more and more like a thorn lately.:ajsleepy:

Login or register to comment