Sorry this was late! I wrote this at midnight.
~Blaze

Day 6: Write two separate 125 word stories about a picture

Just so you guys know, I changed this prompt from the poem that it was. I regret that slightly, as my schedule that had no free time to begin with suddenly snapped shut. Ah well. Here is the first picture:

Rose

It is a cold day in hell when a rose isn't beautiful. A rose painted in every color of the rainbow would have no difference in that regard. You can still feel it's soft, supple petals, watch the beautiful, natural curves its petals make, taste its sweet, innocent flavor, and smell its cloying scent. Of the beauty in the world, roses are something that most can agree carry a great shine.

You would think that someone named after such a magnificent thing would be the same.

Rose, the lovely, delectable Rose, was as beautiful as her namesake could imply. Long flowing amber hair, a thin, athletic body that would have fashion artists climbing over each other to have her model their clothing, a smile to make any man swoon.

But her eyes. Those black, soulless depths that hold nothing but animosity and hate. A rose in the wild has thorns to protect itself, a barrier against the world. This Rose has the same. But her barbs run deep, and they run further than anyone could ever see.

Like any rose, her voice is sharp and sudden. A warm embrace, a soft caress of her petals, admiration of everything she represents, and as your hand wraps around her she pricks you and lets you bleed.

And she loves it. Her lips curl into a smile, head tilted just as innocently as her namesake as she walks away, heels clacking on the floor and hair flowing down her back while every part of her speaks of dismissal. And her eyes darken day by day and leave her high and untouched, black as the night sky and as always, in a beautiful, ethereal solace.

Well I enjoyed that a lot! I haven't done any sort of extended analogy in a while. Here's the next one!:

Elsewhere

She stepped closer to the river, lifting her head from where it had been previously curled in thought. One hand absentmindedly brushed some loose strands of hair from her eyes before adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

Every time she visited this river, she felt as though something was transporting her to another time. It was so natural, such a frightening change of pace to the usual bleak, gray city that she typically inhabited.

Its swirling, clear water dapples on the ground, swaying gently back and forth at the whim of the wind or the ocean. Little fish dart inside, flashes of orange and scales amidst the browns and grays of the pebbles beneath the water. The stones around the river seem to reach out from the ground, contorting themselves in strange amalgamations that only nature can understand.

Sometimes when the sun shines on the river she could see all the way to the bottom of the shallow part of the water. She had tried looking in the middle on one of those days, but those vast depths were no match for her feeble sight. On days like this one, where the sky was overcast and clouds painted themselves against the water, she could see nothing but whatever swirled around on the top.

She bent down and picked up a small pebble from next to the river, a smooth, marbled, and gray stone that looked almost nondescript next to its partners but in her hand felt strangely right. She cast her eyes to the river, thumb rubbing the pebble in her hand gently. Waiting for the right moment, she flicked her wrist in a well practiced movement and released the pebble.

As it flew from her hand it skipped, once, twice, three times, four until finally it stopped, making a soft 'plunk' in the water. She watched it sink and for a moment she felt a small part of her worries float away in the river. A small smile lit up her face before she reached down for another, determined to send her problems downstream to collect somewhere far, far away from her.