Little Rose

Tears were rolling down her cheeks as the doctor made clear that she suffered from leukimia. The word 'leukimia' crushed her heart to pieces. The fact that only one in ten people survived from it seared her miserably.
It all started on that day--the happiest and the most sorrowful day-- at the moment she was lying helplessly in hospital. Danny's brittle voice started, "I brought the roses we planted together in our garden." In the silence were the tick-tock of the clock, the heave of their breaths, and the deserted surrounding. "They are so beautiful they remind of you," he murmured. Since she did not have a tiny peace of strength to either unlock her eyes or utter a word, she rested her fragile body. He gripped and kissed her hand, gently. Her heart suddenly shrunk. She felt a stream of hot tears running her fingers. The tears were swirling down around her arm, forming drops from her elbow. "I love you, Rose."
First, there were four lovely scarlet roses. As days went by, now there were just one. Next to her leaned the dazzling rose against the vase. Its striking beauty hypnotized her. Its reflection echoed, sealing the loneliness and building warmth throughout the room. Perhaps, it was the most beautiful living thing she had ever witnessed since her first day in the hospital. The remaining rose was fascinating, and it inspired her to stay alive. When she noticed a dark stain on the petal, she smiled for the first time. "We are struggling together, aren't we?" She gazed at the rose, full of hope. "We are going to defeat our enemies that overwhelmed us. We can do this."
Miraculously, Rose survived, together with the remaining rose, which was losing its petals. For a remembrance, Danny made a portrait of it on a wall. The painting was composed of a bright rose rising up and of grey shadows of dying roses alongside it. The effort from the blue-sky background was alive. "You have made it, my little Rose."