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THE VASE OF ROSES, decorated with a great, red ribbon, sat in the center of the table for Magritte to find when she came home. Tucked deep inside the stems, a white envelope waited. The card was from Franz, her lover. He sneaked into the house using the key Magritte had given him. Casting furtive glances, he left the vase on the table. He made sure to push the card deep within so her husband, Dr. Grim, would not see it.
When Magritte woke the next morning, she was delighted to see the roses. She looked for a card, and when she saw the white envelope tucked deep into the stems, she knew it must be from Franz. He always hid the card. She reached inside, not checking to see if the florist had removed the thorns. Franz always bought her roses without thorns, for he believed that by giving a lover a flower with thorns was detrimental to the relationship. Thorns were for enemies. As she pulled her hand out of the stems, however, the thorns gripped her skin. Magritte jerked her hand with a gasp and looked at it. Deep scratches adorned her fair skin. She watched as blood oozed from the wounds. A tiny bud that had not yet bloomed peeled open slowly to full bloom right before her eyes. Magritte, intrigued by the flowers, and in desperate need to see who had sent them, shoved her hand deep into the stems to retrieve the card once more. The stems tightened around her hand, the thorns dug deep into her skin, puncturing it. She stifled her screams by biting her other hand until it bled. The pain became unbearable, and as she bit harder on her hand, she glimpsed her husband. She screamed for him to help her.
Dr. Grim stood in the doorway, watching. He saw Franz bring the flowers. He knew what his wife was up to. He switched the flowers with those of his own design. As a botanist and a scientist, he was able to create a hybrid of rose and Venus fly trap. A plant with beautiful flowers that needed protein in order to grow and prosper.
As he watched her futile attempts to extract her hand from the carnivorous flowers, he chuckled and came nearer. He crouched by her and lovingly pushed the hair from her eyes, tucking it gently behind her ear.
“This is what you get,” he said in a whisper.
Magritte’s eyes opened wide as the stems tightened even more, the thorns pressing further into her skin. She willed herself to ignore the pain, it wasn’t real. How could beautiful roses be eating her hand?
All sound became muffled. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Her vision blurred, and finally, blackness overtook her, and she no longer felt anything.
Dr. Grim dragged her into his basement laboratory where he conducted all his botanical experiments. A place Magritte never went. She didn’t care about his science, his experiments. All she cared about was being beautiful, and having tea with her busybody friends, and secret rendezvous with her lover.
He dropped her onto the floor. Blood oozed from the tattered remains of her hand.
“Now my babies will have plenty of food to sustain them,” he rubbed his hands together. “Hello, my pretties.”
The plants in the incubator pressed their blooms against the glass and rattled their stems, eager for their next meal.
Dr. Grim turned and stepped toward the corner where Franz sat, bound and gagged, a puddle of blood around the chair he sat in, blood that dripped from his ragged shoulder and foot. Dr. Grim stepped closer, pulling something from an instrument tray. A large lily snapped at the doctor as he moved closer to Franz, it shook its spiny leaves when it missed his shoulder. Dr. Grim looked at the lily with scorn and it shrunk away from him. He turned his attention back to Franz, whose scream was muffled against his gag as Dr. Grim picked up a shiny scalpel from a tray.
“Just an eye,” he said. “That’s all they need. Full of protein, the eye. They will be larger than my last bouquet.”
Franz struggled against his bindings, his eyes wide. As the scalpel neared, Franz closed his eyes tight.
With a malicious cackle, Dr. Grim said, “It won’t hurt, for long,” and dug the scalpel in.
