Ginger needed a bouquet of roses. It was the singular most important thing on her mind. It should have been easy to get them, because her hometown had always been so lovely and full of flowers, and then her sister, the florist, always had greenery of all kinds bursting through from the windows. But as Ginger looked up at the shop, the paint was faded and peeling, and the windows boarded. She didn't even have a key.
She goes back home, another boarded up shop. She's been trying to clean it, but the whole area has become an ill-colored wasteland. It seems everyone has left or is too busy to help. She tried to pry a piece of wood off of one of the windows and ended up with a and full of splinters. The walk used to be fun. She'd see rabbits scurry out of the cobblestone pathways at the approach of the townsfolk. Now, weeds overgrow the pavement, and the gentle atmosphere is replaced by the solitary sound of her footsteps.
Her older brother is asleep inside. He lost his house, so he'd been squatting. He'd never been a drinker before, but now empty bottles litter the floor. How he piled them up again so fast, she couldn't say, but after sliding a pillow under his head she decides not to bother him. Most of the fabrics have become water-damaged or moth-eaten, but she finds a drawer full of tissue paper and a half-dried gluestick. It'll have to do.
It's a clumsy job, but she has her bouquet before the sun starts to set. If she can still hurry, she can make it.
Emma's gravestone is the newest one in the cemetery. Knowing nobody will bother her, she begins to decorate it with the paper roses.
"I miss you," she says to the marker, touching her sister's name where it's etched into the marble. Her vision blurs, a knot forming in her throat. "Oh, Emma, why'd you have to go and do it?"
She'd thought that the medication had been helping. But when she came back, Halim had shaken his head. She's gone, he told her. We all thought you were dead...and Em couldn't take it, she just broke down.
He'd broken down, too. Nothing here felt clean anymore.
cw: suicide, alcoholism
She goes back home, another boarded up shop. She's been trying to clean it, but the whole area has become an ill-colored wasteland. It seems everyone has left or is too busy to help. She tried to pry a piece of wood off of one of the windows and ended up with a and full of splinters. The walk used to be fun. She'd see rabbits scurry out of the cobblestone pathways at the approach of the townsfolk. Now, weeds overgrow the pavement, and the gentle atmosphere is replaced by the solitary sound of her footsteps.
Her older brother is asleep inside. He lost his house, so he'd been squatting. He'd never been a drinker before, but now empty bottles litter the floor. How he piled them up again so fast, she couldn't say, but after sliding a pillow under his head she decides not to bother him. Most of the fabrics have become water-damaged or moth-eaten, but she finds a drawer full of tissue paper and a half-dried gluestick. It'll have to do.
It's a clumsy job, but she has her bouquet before the sun starts to set. If she can still hurry, she can make it.
Emma's gravestone is the newest one in the cemetery. Knowing nobody will bother her, she begins to decorate it with the paper roses.
"I miss you," she says to the marker, touching her sister's name where it's etched into the marble. Her vision blurs, a knot forming in her throat. "Oh, Emma, why'd you have to go and do it?"
She'd thought that the medication had been helping. But when she came back, Halim had shaken his head. She's gone, he told her. We all thought you were dead...and Em couldn't take it, she just broke down.
He'd broken down, too. Nothing here felt clean anymore.
This wasn't home anymore.