Calvin Rose
Bio
Stories (4/0)
The Voice
The days were short and cold, blanketed in the chill of one of the coldest winters in history. My path home was long, but the alcohol buzzing through my veins kept my mind reeling, my thoughts deflected from the cold and lengthy journey. In my pocket, I twisted the paper hat that Brenda had slipped onto my head while the pounding music of the darkly lit party shook our cores. We were coming to the end of a string of ragers – one every night from Christmas Eve until New Year’s. It was 3AM now on the day of New Year’s Eve as I trampled the snow and straw-grass on the field leading toward my parents’ property. They were on vacation in the Caribbean, so I could see the farmhouse in the distance was dark. I methodically stomped through the icy-crunch grass to the beat of a half-remembered song that had kept playing and playing throughout the party. I whistled loudly, not worried about disturbing anyone. The house was on an acre of land – no neighbors for quite some distance.
By Calvin Rose3 years ago in Fiction
Blessed Fruit
For four long years, the pear tree was barren. Only scarce white blossoms dotted the green, elliptic leaves. It was the only pear tree in all of the orchard. It was 18 feet tall and once wonderfully shaped. Pears were Albert’s favorite fruit. He would eat one every day after lunch, slicing pieces with his Korean War veteran pocketknife as he ate. He would sit in the sunroom gazing out across the orchard. Apple, orange, and lemon trees populated the backyard with the cherished D’Anjuo pear tree in the center towering over all. In the fall season, the leaves changed to an almost purple hue and the pears were ready to harvest. And with the winter, the leaves fell, along with Albert as he succumbed to the cancer.
By Calvin Rose3 years ago in Fiction
The Earth Princess
In the mauve and metal city, suspended in the black recess of space, a lone figure sits tucked away in a tiny room on the edge of the floating colossus. The room, manufactured in steel but draped in reds and browns and greens, is warmed in a scale called Fahrenheit to a temperature alien to the city-dwellers. It is here where the fate of an obsolescent race – once rulers of a bygone planet – remains safely in stasis, but it is here, too, where its fate is eventual.
By Calvin Rose3 years ago in Fiction