My grandmother asked for a rose on her birthday.
I remembered my grandmother droning on and on about how in her day, her garden used to be filled with roses.
A brilliant scarlet red against verdant green.
Then the Calamity happened and a dense fog of toxic fumes covered the land, suffocating the soil.
No more brilliant red roses.
So I decided to make her one.
So I took scraps of metal and stolen gears from my father's watch shop and pieced it together meticulously.
Her face was alight with joy when I presented her with that metal rose.