LOOK AT WHAT USED TO BE YOUR ROSES. Miss Strangeworth read it again, then tightly squeezed her eyes shut. Slowly, she walked to her front door, opened it, and walked outside. She did not see her roses, only holes in the ground, it was like they were just dug up and moved. Even the ramblers weren't there. Horrified, she looked at the street saw and a pile of all her roses, stomped into the concrete. Screaming, she ran over and knelt down in the center of the rose pancake. She picked up all she could and shuffled inside, not being seen for the rest of the day.
Two days later, Miss Strangeworth emerged from her house, and went into town to once again do her daily routine. No one talked to her as she walked. She was met only with glares of hate. She looked down and continued walking. Then, she smelled something familiar. Roses. Looking up, she saw a bouquet of roses in the window of the flower shop. Without looking, she started fast walking across the street to the flower shop. When suddenly, she was hit by a car and sent flying. By the time the ambulances arrived, it was too late. Miss Strangeworth was dead.
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