They were growing roses.
In a small village, two sisters lived.
Every year, roses of different colors bloomed.
Last year was red, this year is white.
The roses were picked and delivered to the villagers.
The sisters received bread and milk in gratitude.
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The villagers nourished their hearts with roses.
Placing them in vases,
Floating them in tea,
Making pressed flowers,
Creating perfumes,
Painting pictures.
And thus, they passed the years with roses.
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The sisters loved roses.
They always thought about roses.
The older sister said to the younger sister,
“‘The seed is like a baby, to gently wrap in soil.
The sprout is like a child, protected from heat and cold.
The branches are like a young boy, supported to grow straight.
The buds are like a young girl, not to be touched by delicate clothing.’”
“I love flowers, but the thorns hurt,”
the younger sister said.
“Thorns are there to make you handle roses with care,”
the older sister replied.
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One day, the sound of cannons could be heard from a distance.
The villagers informed us that a war had started.
Some people decided to leave the village.
The sisters didn’t know what to do.
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On that day, the sisters were in the rose garden.
They saw a soldier approaching.
The elder sister hid her younger sister in the thick bushes of roses.
“Stay here until tomorrow morning,” she said.
The soldier asked the elder sister to come with him.
She was placed in the back of a truck.
And they drove away.
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The younger sister spent the entire night trembling within the thicket.
Her clothes were torn by thorns, and her skin was cut.
The next morning, she crawled out of the thicket.
When she looked up at the sky, she saw that the direction of the town was completely red.
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Afterwards, many people were brought to the village.
There were even the elderly and babies.
Everyone remained motionless.
Their bodies were covered in wounds.
The villagers buried them one by one in the ground.
They placed wooden markers on top of the graves.
“June 6th – Girl”
The younger sister realized that war meant people hurting others, people being hurt by others, and people dying.
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The rose garden was in ruins.
The sight of roses blooming everywhere felt like a dream.
Roses.
Big sister.
Roses.
Big sister.
Roses.
Big sister.
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The younger sister grew up being treated kindly by the villagers.
When the younger sister’s height was about the same as her older sister’s, the older sister returned.
The older sister looked like an old woman.
“To think you’re alive, big sister.”
“To think you’re alive, little sister.”
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The sisters stood in the rose garden.
“I’m sure the roses didn’t wither in your heart.
I was stained with the blood of a pain sharper than rose thorns.
But I couldn’t bring myself to abandon the roses.”
“Let’s plant seeds.”
The sisters, together, cut the grass and tilled the soil.
They sowed the seeds and waited for them to sprout.
They watered them, protected them from insects, and nurtured the branches.
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By the third year, the buds began to swell.
“Roses will bloom again.”
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Now,
In the blue sky,
Yellow roses are blooming.
Dandelion 