Rose

metalrose

Today I was running late for my teaching job, after a particularly grueling session tapping out messages, and a sleepless night. I was in such a hurry that I almost missed the rose. It was clutched in the hand of a statue that I passed on my way to work every day. It was a pre-arranged signal from one of my informants within the French Occupation Government, and it was only to be used in the case of absolute emergencies.