In a village, no one was special or better than people at other things; everyone was equal and order to things was the way of life. Till a certain girl was born and could do many things, excel at them all. A special girl.

For the balance of the village and others not to be imbalanced, for the village to remain the same, the villagers decided it would be best if the girl left to live on the hill. There, she could be the many things her being demanded she be, and have no one look at her with jealousy or admiration.

The girl understood this, her mind understood this but her heart only wanted to be a part of the village, not the hill.

She left for her new home with a heavy heart but clear understanding.

On the hill, she couldn’t help but look at her village, hear how her departure made no difference. It hurt her so much, she cried whenever she looked at the view, the life she longed to be part of and despair for life that was taken from her.

Those tears landed on sacred ground and travelled to the bottom, where they created a field of roses. For tears of despair, white roses grew and for tears of longing red roses grew. Years passed, and the girl could cry no longer and the hill started feeling like home which she could never accept, decided it was time she left. Thinking by then, new way of thinking would have made it’s way into the village.

When she reached the bottom, roses greeted her. The many she could see she picked but because she was excited and in a hurry, didn’t think anything of them till she was traveling the path that had brought her to the hill. She reached her village with many roses in her hands, and couldn’t carry them all.

The village was quiet, in the middle of the day, no chatter or sounds of people going by their chores and lives, it was still. A chill rose when she passed houses and saw no life, no one. At the heart of the village, she found a burial site and one single corpse.

The roses that grew, made of tears that travelled and took root weren’t mere roses, they each represented lives of the villagers; from children to adults and the last life that had stood alone after burying everyone.

The village was no more. Only the girl from the hill.

Was it her fault for crying, the villagers for keeping their ways or the hill for taking her tears?