After getting off the highway, Sam took the car up a small road through the evergreen trees ten miles out from Roseland. The trees flew by in a blur of green, and the light fuzzing the picture melded it together until Rose lost conception of time and place. It was a peaceful quiet drive with the wind driving golden flecks into Rose's dead hair, burning it back to life. Sam never lost sight of the road, not even to watch the metamorphosis of the bud turn into a flower, but when the road seemed to end, he drove on down the dirt trail until the car couldn't go any further.

"Cover your eyes." He whispered.

"Sam, why are—"

"Please?" He pleaded.

Rose lurched a great sigh of frustration but rolled her eyes in acceptance. Her hands came up fast up to her eyes, and as Sam helped her out of the car and down the path, she could feel the ground change beneath her. Between her skin and bones, the sun lit up her pinkish orange hands under her eyelids. She marveled at the intricate lines of her blue and red veins and arteries respectively.

"How much farther, Sam?"

"We're almost there. We're almost there." He sang excitingly. The crunch of twigs and leaves and even the dips into the soft soil turned into hard ground and more foliage. Rose felt the temperature change as the sun wasn't protected by the trees anymore.

"Okay. . .you can open them." She opened her eyes to the pastel blue sky that contained brush stroked white fluffy clouds, and down below a clearing of baby blue forget me not flowers that engulfed the entire clearing.

"Oh my. . ." There must have been thousands of tiny little flowers. After running through the blues and greens, Rose and Sam fell down gasping for breath letting the tiny baby blue eyes tickle their noses and cheeks. They watched the sun cross the sky slowly, but soon enough, it touched the tips of the trees on the other side and then dipped down.

"I am living in a time loop."

"Oh really?" Sam spoke without a single movement, and neither did Rose.

"I'll show you—"

"Sam, I don't want to live in your little world anymore. . .and. . .I know you are struggling—I'm trying to help you—but I don't want to get stuck like I did before."

Sam tilted his head to stare at Rose's profile. He sat up slowly, letting the blood rush to his head and turned his hand picking a bouquet of myosotis. It wasn't until he carefully picked each individual, small little miniature flower did he realize the yellow center was surrounded by a ring of pure white. After, Sam pinched off each individual bud beneath the blue flower until the stem was smooth. Even then, though, there was fuzz, so he rubbed his two fingers up and down the stock to rip away the hairs.

"We could spend our days waiting for fabulous roses, but we'd miss the beauty and wonder of the tiny forget-me-nots that are all around us. . . but I like to think I have a bouquet of roses already, luv." Sam began to reach over to hand Rose his handful of flowers, but noticed she fell asleep. "Rose?" He probed her. "Rose. Rose. Rose." He monotonously repeated like a child to their mother.

"Mmm? What?" Rose snapped back lazily. She laid there unmoving with her eyes closed and face upwards toward the now dimming sky.

"Rose, wake up." Sam moaned relentlessly. Rose let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Yes, Sam?" Her tone was sarcastically annoyed. He jerked his arm and pushed the beautiful well manicured flowers into Rose's face. Rose sat up lethargically, well more confused than anything else. "What are these?" She innocently spoke down to the man-child.

"They're for you." He smiled perfectly and quite genuinely which was off putting for Rose. It wasn't until Rose shook off the fog from being drowsy that she realized what Sam was insinuating.

"Oh, no, Sam, I don't like—well—what I mean is—" She stopped and lightly placed her hands on the little smiling flowers, "—I think Cecile would like these even more. You should give them to her to show that you still love her, because you do, Sam, you really do." Sam blankly stared at her.

"Ok," He chippered back. Rose sighed in great relief. She thought Sam was actually smart enough to see through to the rejection.

Their heart rate increased with a gush of blood as the two got up from the flowers. Sam started toward the edge of the clearing, but Rose thought better than to let him wander about.

"Where're you going there, sonny?" Sam's arms swung to and fro as he lazily zigzagged across the blue flowers.

"Toua. . .toua uh Cecile of course."

Where?

Rose duly followed Sam through the blue flowers as they warped around her legs and tickled her skin. As the trees came closer, the colors saturated and smeared together until the light faded away when they stepped into the shade. The cool blue became a faded brownish yellow, and Rose noticed the green brush dried out and shriveled before her eyes in a matter of seconds. Her dress changed color, too, from the dark midnight to a light blue little petite summer dress. Through the empty twigs hanging in the air, she noticed a worn down house laying sturdily on the dead grass: Sam's house.

When Sam bursted through the twigs, he took one look at the house, quickly glanced at Rose who starred indifferently at the horizon, and then traversed across the dead grass that waved in the wind.

It suddenly became cold as fog clouded the sky, and tears began to carefully drip down from above.

"Sam," Rose called out as he took the lead getting further and further away as he went. "Sam! Hey, wait up." She picked up the pace and began to run against the wind as it relentlessly pushed her back. "Sam!" She saw him reach the porch and through the door, and not moments later, the house suddenly teleported before her. Even though she wasn't ten seconds behind Sam, when she entered it felt like she was hours late. Sam was standing there in the familiar lifeless, green hall staring down Cecile, who was also standing there staring uncomfortably at Sam as if she hadn't seen him since they last fought.

"Cecile," Rose huffed out breathlessly. "Cecile, listen—" Cecile held up her hand stopping Rose. She never lost her harsh eye contact with Sam when she finally spoke:

"I don't know why you came here, Sam." Sam finally looked away ashamed or embarrassed for something. Cecile took one glaring glance at Rose beneath her judgemental eyelashes, and turned to walk into the same blue kitchen, however, it lost its innocence long ago. When Cecile sat down, picking up her red mug full of searing hot coffee and hid behind the white and black paper, a young angelic voice called out.

"Mommie" a little girl in a vibrant dark red dress and thick red flowing hair skipped into the faded blue kitchen and started bugging Cecile. "Mommie mommie." Sam stared at the little girl in shock. He didn't move once when little red buttercup prancied her way in, nor did he move when another deep melodic voice called from the other room. Rose looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps, and when the towering body emerged, so did Sam.
He was extremely tall and bulky, and was barely able to fit under the door, with blushed cheeks and light faded dusty blonde hair.

"Richard." Cecile spoke to him. "This is Sam, my friend from highschool."

"Friend? Friend?!" Sam furiously stammered. "Ceciley, please. Don't you remember? Don't you remember Timmy?" Cecile stared at him with eyes that sold Rose: she really didn't know, and to Rose, that made her realize Sam's inability to tell the truth, or at least understand the difference between fables and the truth.

"Sam—" Sam turned to Rose begging for her help.

"Rose, I'm not crazy, you remember my boy. Don't you?" He slowly came to his knees. "You remember Timmy? Right?" Rose looked down to him like he really was insane even though she did remember the little bloody boy.

"Come on Sam." Rose lightly placed her hand on his shoulder on the verge of tears. "We should go." Sam really was shocked by this, and by the time she dragged him to the front porch, he was shattered. Together, they walked up the hill to the dead tree that was once filled with butterflies and sat there staring at the spot where Sam was certain was his son's grave. The forest behind them hadn't any foliage but we're just twigs of grief and sullenness. Even the ground seemed wet and moldings of composting, degrading, and decomposing flesh and digesting produce.

"This is all my fault." Sam emotionally muttered under his tears. He fell down to cry upon the rock that sat perfectly in the clearing right by a patch of molding leaves.

"No, Sam, no." Rose comforted him. "It's not your fault at all." Sam froze with an epiphany sparking in his head.

"You're right. It's not my fault." He turned to her furious. "It's yours!" He jumped, reaching for Rose's neck.

"Sam!" He toppled her and wrapped his grotesque hands around her warm fleshy neck. "Sam." Rose grunted as she fell to the ground. She lazily gasped for air, and as her windpipe closed, her voice became strained. "Sam. Please. Stop." She gasped for air again and brought her knee up crushing his crotch. Sam roared with pain and crumbled to the side. Then, a gust of wind brought crows circling above them. They perched on the dead tree branches for a moment of consideration, and then dive bombed Sam. They pecked and probed at his body as if it were decaying and already dead. They squawked at Rose as if she was their queen, and surrounded her with their black oily feathers.

"Sam!" Rose waved away the birds. They flew away in a scattered manner. His body, torn and shredded with fresh blood dripping from his jagged cuts, slowly moved as he woke up, and first his eyes were slickly innocent, until they turned red with fiery anger, and before Rose could even blink, he jumped her, grabbing her neck again.

"You stop! Rose, how can you do this to me? Huh?" He banged her head against the rock, and Rose's vision began to blur. "Huh? How? How?" He banged her head again and again—the crunching of bone sounded with each bang, until the last one made her black out.