A ROSE WAS DYING It was a dirt country road wound behind the house, where the single mother and her sick child were. The belated, tired passenger dragging his feet on the windy road stopped. He surveyed the sleeping village. He, noticing the only house still with the light on, walked confidently toward it. He knocked between the child's cries and the woman's soothing words, and when he heard no answer, pushed and opened the door. The surprised woman made a cross in the air, but the older man greeted her politely and asked her if she would shelter him for the night. The young woman hesitated momentarily, but when she saw that her child had calmed down, she confidently shared her fear that she may lose her sick little boy. The man removed his hood, approached the swing, gently touched the ill child's forehead, and smiled. "We have been suffering from cold, hunger, and insomnia for a month," the mother admitted, crying inconsolably. The stranger took out a piece of dry bread, dipped it into the glass of water, and placed it in the hand of the child, who eagerly sucked it. Then he picked up the old blanket, covered her shoulders with it, and advised her: "Woman, I'll take care of your sick boy so you can sleep a little!" the mother relaxed and fell asleep. At dawn, she was awakened by the sudden onset of cold. She looked anxiously for her boy, but there was no sign of the passenger or her child. Terrified, the mother runs barefoot on the empty street, hoping to catch the abductor and save her child. But as long she could see no live soul on the road, she started running nonstop. She no longer felt any cold or pain, but she realized she was at a crossroads at one point. She started crying, wondering which road to go on, when she heard a human voice. The scared mother looked around, and when she saw no one, she turned to the rosehip, which was shaking its icy bare stems: "Please, anyone tell me if anyone saw an old man passing on this road with my child in his arms.” The voice replied that the older man who had taken her child was THE DEATH ITSELF, and the rosehip asked the crying mother what she would give her in return. The woman pointed to her barefoot and the rags she was dressed with and begged again for mercy while the rosehip laughed mockingly and said: "Woman, if you embrace my icy branches, the thorns will sink into your flesh, and you will repay me for the favor by warming me." The mother garb the thorny bush, pressed into the emaciated body with all her might, and asked anxiously: " Please tell me which road to go to?" Suddenly, Mother was surprised at how fluffy white flowers appeared on the still-bleeding twigs. And then she heard the voice again: "The life of your sick child is in your hands now! But you could prevent your boy's death if you run faster without stopping." The grief-stricken woman ran down the icy road but soon found herself at a crossroads again, sat on the roadside stone, and wept in despair. Ga! Ga! Ga!… The black raven croaked, landed on the ground, danced in front of her, and suddenly asked with a human voice: "Why are you crying woman?" The mother was startled but quickly replied that Death had taken her sick little boy, whom she tried to save but didn't know which road they went to. The bird spread its wings as if to fly away, and then she asked the mother what she would get in return if she told her. The mother pointed to her bare legs and the old, bloodied dress and started crying. But the raven did not back down and indignantly rebuked her: “How can you say you have nothing to give me? If you want to prevent the death of your boy, give me your beautiful shiny hair!" With all her might, the mother grabbed the lush hair, pulled it, and gave it to the bird. The raven took them and said only to the mother: "Follow me!" she started running after the flying bird, hoping to catch up with Death. She ran with her bare, frozen feet and felt no pain. But after a while, the raven disappeared from her sight, and she became hopeless again. This time, she found himself on the shores of a lake and bent down to take a sip of water, but she saw her reflection in the water. The mother was frightened but saw the approaching colossal wave at that moment. She stepped back, wondering how she would cross this water. Suddenly, the moon appeared, and she saw the outlines of the far shore. This time, she heard a deep, soothing voice: “Don't cry, am the lake, and I will help you to prevent the death of your boy, but what will you give for the favor? "What can I give you?" Don't you see that I have nothing? ” “You have a lot to give me! Look at those big eyes of yours. They can glow on my shore like two headlights at night. Cry a little more, and they will fall on their own, and after that, I will take you to the other side of the lake. The mother left her eyes to shine like two lighthouses on the lake's shore. The waves grabbed her, and in an instant, the barefoot, naked without any hair on her head and blind, she appeared before the man she was chasing, The Death itself. He took her hand and led her to the divine garden while she was pegging him to take her to her sick son, and he replied that he would show her the child, but she had to decide whether to save him. "You can't see, but somehow you make it to the divinely beautiful place - “The Garden of Eden," explains the Death to the disfigured Mother. "Come with me and look through this window. Now, even when you are blind, you can see your child's fate. Indeed, the mother saw the huge bright room in which some little boy of her son's age dressed in expensive clothes was playing hoppy with a kitten. A young woman approached him, hugged him with love, and carried him to the table full of treats and fresh fruit. The Death took the dumbfounded mother by the hand and led her to the nearby window, telling her to look inside. The mother smells the familiar stench of dampness and mold, and she realizes he showed the gloomy, cold room at her home. She even heard her little hungry boy crying and started weeping inconsolably.” "This garden, which stretches in front of us, is planted with flowers, and there is a heartbeat under each flower. If you recognize the heartbeat of your little boy, you could save him. The mother ran toward the garden, stopping before a freshly planted bush with a single rose. She threw himself on the ground, listened, instinctively grabbed the flower, tore it off, and pressed the rose to her bloodied chest, hoping to save her child's pain. Whenever my mother told us about this sad fairytale, I felt like I was everywhere with the mother and the boy. I even shivered from the cold, and my sister and I always cried when we heard the sad ending, but it seemed like every time, we hoped something would change and the end would be different. We asked Mom why the mother had killed the child and not saved him after recognizing his heartbeat. She patiently explained that the mother loved her sick child and, out of love, found Death. But she plucked the rose to save him from pain and misery when she saw how the other children lived and how her ill child was suffering. That night, for the first time, I thought about my mother's words and realized that my sister and I lived in close misery to those of these poor people, and I even saw myself in the place of the poor dying child. But when I heard Mom talking to Dad and laughing, and instead of wishing us good night, she sang, and I calmed down. During the night, when my parents fell asleep, I was thinking, and I was even scared. I jumped between mom and dad, and when I felt their even breathing, I felt thrilled to have loving parents. From that day on, I understood that poverty leads people to misery, and I did not want us to be so poor. It was the last time I asked my mother to tell us the story of the dying rose because a lot of love and care surrounded us, and I already knew that I would always be happy, prosperous, and wealthy no matter when. More than half a century has passed since that day. My father died soon after my husband. I took my two children to America, where I promised them peace and prosperity. But our fate was predetermined because in a ridiculous accident, I lost my 28-year-old son Philip, and only a week after his burial, our mother died. My daughter married a Moroccan man she met at her brother's funeral. Unaware that it would serve as a springboard into the life of a con man, my daughter devoted her life entirely to her family and gave birth to two boys, who became the victims of a premeditated crime. I want to explain that our family tragedy has not broken me or my daughter, and I believe we found and saved our boys, Zach and Soleil. On this occasion, I have changed the ending of this sad tale and dedicate it entirely to all mothers and fathers whose children have been abducted by some known or unknown criminal. The mother grabbed the thorn bush, pressed the rose with all her remaining strength to her bloodied breast, and suddenly, in her arms appeared a healthy and smiling baby, and she thanked the Death for sparing them and restoring her sick boy's health, her sight, and her beautiful hair.