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Short Story - Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming

Please don't ask how the title came to be. For the story, I mixed quite a few of my friends' experiences together... Of course, the part about the suicide is really made up.
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Twelve noon. Twelve chimes. Twelve days.

Twelve days of Christmas.

Twelve more days.

Twelve more days to the end. Twelve more days till the Day.

There was a girl walking down the streets, looking down. No one could see who she was, except for that long, auburn hair covering her face. It was dirty and unkempt.

She looked at the bunch of soiled notes in her hands. Mama had given her twice this much, and nothing more. She had spent a half of it already. Mama had sent her out. Mama had told her not to return until she reflected on her mistakes.

She made her way down the steets. She looked up. It was a merry street. People were celebrating, people were buying things, spending the time with their loved ones"¦ And she was alone. Alone with twelve dollars. Only twelve dollars left now.

A dollar a day, she thought. A dollar a day to tide me through all this.

She never found that she was wrong. She found nothing wrong in wanting to pursue her dreams - but Mama never understood that. Mama wanted other things. Mama wanted her to follow her dreams, instead. She was angry. She had always listened to Mama all the time, since the day she was born till now. Till now. And from now on, she would follow herself, and only herself.

All these years, Mama had loved her, but Mama did that so she would follow Mama's wishes. She certainly did not want that. She was herself. She wasn't Mama's little doll anymore. She had grown up. She could make her own decisions now. She knew what was right.

She had argued with Mama and made Mama cry. Mama told her that she was all that she had now. Papa had died, and there was no one else she could depend on anymore. She was Mama's own daughter, her little doll, no matter what happened. She would follow Mama's wishes, for it was Mama who had brought her up single-handedly all these years.

But Mama"¦ Mama was wrong. Mama said that her wishes were for her own good. She had no wish to care about those wishes. She wanted to follow her own. Her own. But her own"¦

She focused her attention on the streets again. She looked intently at the people. Their faces, their expressions, their clothes, their actions"¦ She had a sudden urge to take out a pen and some paper from her satchel, and write down all of this.

All of this"¦ And she would prove to Mama.

In twelve days. In just another twelve days"¦ Mama would know. Mama would understand. She had made all the required preparations. It was all in her satchel.

She wrote about the young lady sharing her sandwich with her friend in the cafe. She wrote about the elderly man taking pictures of the snow falling steadily on the street. She wrote about the Christmas decorations on the streets. The lamposts. The cars. The snow.

Snow. More, and more snow. Snow that was beginning to numb her senses.

She took off her coat, her scarf, and her layers of sweaters, leaving but a rather thin shirt and her pants. She would make her journey home now.

And it would take her twelve days. Exactly twelve days. She had counted on her way here. And twelve days later"¦ Mama would realise her mistake.

Lo, how a rose e"er blooming.

Christmas Eve was here. Little boys and girls everywhere received their presents. But the present was gone.

For her. Forever.

Blooming Eer Rose How Lo Story Short

Ah. Um. Xue? Please say you didn't take anything from me, because this is evoking some very, very bad memories that I've been trying to forget from about five or six years back. Please say you didn't take anything from me.

That aside, I find this to be rather well written. Good capturing of the place around the girl, but perhaps you could have, um, let us see her face. Perhaps not letting the reader see her face is your intention, so I'm not going to push that further. Um, I also don't really see how the rose fits in among all this. Of course, if you've been listening to Bettie Milder's(sp?) 'The Rose' and took inspiration from the last verse... I think it was the last verse.

Still, on the whole quite a well written piece. Yes.

Short Story - Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming Reviews Consumer & Travel Family Culture

"Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming" is a Christmas carol. Not very well-known, but it has a pretty title. Yes.

No, not you. Really, not you. But you do realise that many of us want to do things our parents don't let us? Okay. Maybe not on such an extreme scale, but I like going to extremes at times... Oh, for the sake of art. I have an artistic license, y'hear?

*evil cackle*

Thanks, anyway.

Blooming Eer Rose How Lo Story Short

'tcha, it's not the 'rebellious act' thing, it's the mother-turning-you-out-and-not-letting-you-go-back-in thing. Which really, really stinks majorly. Really. Trust me on this one, it's not nice to cry on your doorstep and contemplate not what you did wrong, but suicide. I mean, six year olds aren't supposed to think of suicide. I mean, they aren’t even supposed to know what suicide is. I didn’t, actually, know the word. I knew the deed.

That aside, I’ve actually run a google search on the carol, and I’ve read it’s lyrics. You’re right, it does have a very pretty title, and some very pretty lyrics. Perhaps if you wish to revise this story to add in the song(which I have taken the liberty to add in below) it may be a bit more relevant. Still, I don’t really get the relationship, apart from the fact that it’s a Christmas carol and contains the lines ‘It came, a floweret bright, / Amid the cold of winter, / When half spent was the night.’. Could you explain the relationship? No offense meant if offense is taken, incidentally.

Lo, how a rose e'er blooming,
From tender stem hath sprung!
Of Jesse's lineage coming
As men of old have sung
It came, a floweret bright,
Amid the cold of winter,
When half spent was the night.

Isaiah, 'twas foretold it,
The rose I have in mind.
With Mary, we behold it,
The Virgin Mother kind.
To show God's love aright,
She bore to men a Savior,
When half spent was the night.