{"id":309,"date":"2026-04-22T20:23:52","date_gmt":"2026-04-22T20:23:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/?page_id=309"},"modified":"2026-04-22T20:35:45","modified_gmt":"2026-04-22T20:35:45","slug":"tin-can-rose","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/fiction\/tin-can-rose\/","title":{"rendered":"Tin Can Rose"},"content":{"rendered":"

Brock Aldus<\/span><\/p>\n

The tin can\u00a0<\/span>rose<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>blooms<\/span>\u00a0only in the moonlight of the long dead metropolis. Its rusted\u00a0<\/span>shine<\/span>\u00a0a brilliant glow in the depth of night below the towering gravestones.\u00a0<\/span>The rose remembers this city when it was living and breathing for the rose has survived long. It remembers when this place was hallowed ground brimming with life.<\/span>\u00a0Those\u00a0<\/span><\/span>things<\/span><\/span><\/em>\u00a0<\/em>were fascinating to the rose. The creatures of flesh and fur were merely\u00a0<\/span>a distant memory<\/span>\u00a0now.\u00a0<\/span>Their<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>smells<\/span>\u00a0so dynamic, so strange, so vile. The tin can rose yearns for the revolting an<\/span>d endlessly evolving smell of man. The only smells in this grand corpse are oil and rust. The only noises are the grinding of gears and crash on the not living life against one another. The sounds of the\u00a0<\/span>living city<\/span>\u00a0were not altogether dissimilar. The grind of\u00a0<\/span>gears<\/span>\u00a0was\u00a0<\/span>there<\/span>\u00a0yet the flesh things could drown them out. They were so very loud all the time with their unholy cacophony\u00a0<\/span>that<\/span>\u00a0never waned day or night. Now, sounds are a luxury for the tin can\u00a0<\/span>rose<\/span>\u00a0and a terror to the things that are not alive yet l<\/span>ive here.\u00a0<\/span>The not<\/span>\u00a0living life is so very\u00a0<\/span>scared<\/span>\u00a0of making sounds. They hide and creep and crawl throughout the endless corpse they call home.\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/span>T<\/span><\/span><\/strong>hey seem drawn to the shine of the tin can\u00a0<\/span>rose<\/span>, so brilliant in the night. They do not know that everyone notices the shine of the tin can\u00a0<\/span>rose<\/span>. The things they are hiding from know that they love the tin can\u00a0<\/span>rose<\/span>. The tin can rose would feel\u00a0<\/span>guilty<\/span>\u00a0luring them to their doom. However, they are not alive. The rose does not mourn the death of that which is living with<\/span>out life. They are not like the living life of the living city that died long ago. Death in the now dead living city was a rarity. The\u00a0<\/span>not living<\/span>\u00a0things that die around it every moonlit night are most like the loud creatures that ruled the city. The death of those things\u00a0<\/span>was<\/span>\u00a0rare. The rose did remember one death\u00a0<\/span>in particular<\/span>\u00a0from<\/span>\u00a0when it lived<\/span>\u00a0in the living city. A deafening bang like thunder echoed throughout its small world. A sound rivaled only by the death of the city that would come far later. This ba<\/span>ng followed by a shaking of the earth as the man fell before the rose like a coward before his god. His life leaked out in ways the rose did not\u00a0<\/span>know was possible. Although, to be fair, the rose did not know very much at all.\u00a0<\/span>The life<\/span>\u00a0was thin and oily. The rose did not know that oil would be a constant in its life and\u00a0<\/span>unlife<\/span>. His life shimmered in the moonlight, a brilliant red black that the rose could\u00a0<\/span>not hope to<\/span>\u00a0achieve. In truth, the rose was jealous of the man and the beauty that leaked from him. It l<\/span>onged to be such a shade. And so, in the world\u2019s first act of true vanity and greed the rose drank the liquid life from the man. Its roots pulled in\u00a0<\/span>every last<\/span>\u00a0drop it could. Not just that which had leaked out on its own. But that which remained within the man. The rose simply needed to be watered by this succulent meal. If such an act would impart even a fraction of the beauty with which this substance\u00a0<\/span>held<\/span>\u00a0the rose would be satisfied. The rose did not know what would happen from this profane act. How coul<\/span>d it have<\/span>?<\/span>\u00a0All it knew was that by drinking this man\u2019s life it would steal the vibrant beauty of the oily liquid and shimmer in the moonlight like a dancer upon a stage. Its red deepened into an endless shade of crimson that almost seemed to glow. And though the rose did not know it\u00a0<\/span>yet, and<\/span>\u00a0would struggle to\u00a0<\/span>comprehend<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>it<\/span>\u00a0the centuries to follow. Through this\u00a0<\/span>action<\/span>\u00a0it would not die, ever. Not even the ever so loud death of the living city could claim it. When all that lived died it remained. When the\u00a0<\/span>not\u00a0<\/span>living<\/span>\u00a0life became\u00a0<\/span>prevalent<\/span>\u00a0the rose stood tall. Though\u00a0<\/span>by<\/span>\u00a0that point it changed. It did not like the idea of death for death seemed like change and the rose was not fond of change. It has only changed twice in its life. The first time was when it lapped up the beauty and vitality of that man. The second change came with the death of all. For it was inaccurate to say the rose could not die. Rather, it would not stay dead.\u00a0<\/span>So,<\/span>\u00a0when all died the rose followed suit. A temporary condition, as always. However,\u00a0<\/span>this time when the rose awoke it was different. For it had become one of the not living\u00a0<\/span>life<\/span>. Its once soft petals are now cold and hard. A gentle breeze causes a light\u00a0<\/span>clinking<\/span>\u00a0with every motion. The beauty of\u00a0<\/span>the man\u2019s<\/span>\u00a0life remained though changed. Now, it caught the moonlight in a\u00a0<\/span>way<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>nothing else could. A\u00a0<\/span>rusted<\/span>\u00a0blossom shining\u00a0<\/span>in<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>the night<\/span>. A beacon of glimmering life in this long dead world. Though the rose died along with the world and became the tin can rose its vitality was\u00a0<\/span>apparent<\/span>\u00a0to all. This is<\/span>\u00a0the story of\u00a0<\/span>the<\/span>\u00a0immortal rose which stopped living long ago. It sits atop a pile of corpses of those\u00a0<\/span>which<\/span>\u00a0do not live yet can so easily die. They water the roots of the\u00a0<\/span>ever greedy<\/span>\u00a0flower with their disgusting black oil. The tin\u00a0<\/span>can rose<\/span>\u00a0mourns the taste of red life. It longs for the day it may\u00a0<\/span>sate<\/span>\u00a0its hunger. As such, the tin can\u00a0<\/span>rose<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>blooms<\/span>\u00a0only in the moonlight of the long dead metropolis. It\u00a0<\/span>shall<\/span>\u00a0bloom forever. Even when the metropolis crumples and the tin can\u00a0<\/span>rose<\/span>\u00a0sits solitary with only its hollo<\/span>w memories to keep it company.<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Brock Aldus The tin can\u00a0rose\u00a0blooms\u00a0only in the moonlight of the long dead metropolis. Its rusted\u00a0shine\u00a0a brilliant glow in the depth of night below the towering gravestones.\u00a0The rose remembers this city when it was living and breathing for the rose has survived long. It remembers when this place was hallowed ground brimming with life.\u00a0Those\u00a0things\u00a0were fascinating to… <\/p>\n

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