LACY

The flowers in my hands feel heavy, like they're being weighed down by rocks instead of supposedly weightless petals.

I stand in front of a large graveyard. Saint Paul's Church, the spiraled sign says. The sky is grey, like it's matching my mood in a perfect fashion.

My family's graves.

Dad, Mum... Jackson and Stella.

I know I miss my siblings. I know I do. Jackson was my cool little brother. Stella was my wise older sister. Even if they got special treatment, I still loved them.

Jackson and I had weekly book clubs. He loved all the classics, and made me love them, too. We could sit and talk for hours on end, books or not.

He was always so insightful.

Stella and I could bond over our love of all things lace and pretty, girly and cute. Pink this, pink that. Lavender, sea foam. Baby blue and pastel yellow.

We could giggle on and on.

I stare at their graves. Both have flowers resting next to them already, Jackson's has some teddy bears and toy trains from relatives on the Clark side.

My siblings, reduced to dead decomposing bodies in the ground. I won't hear them laugh, or their smiles. Their voices and their chocolate eyes.

"I don't have chocolate eyes," Jackson tells me, sitting at the kitchen table, eating cut-up fruit Mum brought him. "My eyes are brown, but not like chocolate. Like dirt."

"Dirt?" I ask, sitting down at the table as well. I glance at the clock. We have to go to school soon. It's Jackson's first day of Year 7 though he's just eight. "Dirt isn't as nice."

Jackson nods. "Dirt is the fundamental root of life. It's where we get our food to eat, and where flowers and trees grow. Isn't that much nicer than chocolate, Lacy?"

I smile. Jackson thinks of things so clearly. "That's very nice, Jackson."

Kneeling down by the grave titled Jackson Clark, I place a few olive seeds in the ground, pressing them into the dirt.

Jackson was always interested in the story of Feguer, an American who ate an olive with the seed in it as his last meal before execution in the 60s.

He said he wanted an olive tree to sprout from his grave, when he had one. A sign of peace, he'd always tell me.

I stand back up, moving onto Stella's grave. I place roses on her grave, roses she never got to receive from any boyfriends or her husband.

She never got that. She was too young for all of the romances she would wish about, all of the dreamy books she never grew tired of reading.

The roses lean against her stone.

She would've wanted it to be pink, with glitter, preferably.

Stella twirls around her bedroom, dressed in a sparkly dance. She smiles at me, as I lay on my stomach on her bed, flipping through Vogue.

"I don't ever want to die, Lace," She sighs, collapsing next to me.

I glance at her, staring at her with an odd look. "Where on earth did you think of bringing death up as a topic to discuss?" I laugh.

Stella gives me an exasperated look. "If I die, Lacy-Lace, then I won't be able to wear pretty dresses like this one!" She swishes around in her dress, making the sparkles shine.

"You're so dramatic." I grin.

She huffs. "I'll be stuck in a white church dress for all of time in the ground!" She groans into her pillow. "So unfashionable."

The roses will wilt soon, like the other flowers. I can almost imagine Stella rolling around in her coffin, complaining about the ugly flowers decorating her resting place.

When will I come back to the cemetery again?

Two weeks?

Two months?

It took enough convincing to get my brothers to allow me to come here in the first place. I don't know when they'll allow this impromptu visit again.

Glancing back, I see all four of them standing by the gates of the cemetery. They compromised with me—allowing me to visit my family only on the basis that they keep on eye on me.

I understand their concern. I could easily be kidnapped. With my small and pathetically weak frame, I'd be like picking up a lucky penny from the ground to a kidnapper.

James waves at me, and I wave back slowly. I can see his face lift, but I don't stare for much longer. Instead, I turn to my mother's grave.

Imogen Clark, once Imogen Rhodes.

My savior, my tormentor. I don't really know what to call her. No exact label fits on my mother. She was a person I could never understand.

She would cower from my father sometimes, and then cling to him like he was her knight in shining armor, like in fairytales.

She would avoid me like the scum of the earth, and other times she would hug me tightly and tell me I was her most precious child.

Her angel, she'd call me.

Her burden, she'd hiss at me.

I was her sweet little girl and her baggage from another marriage all at the same time. Her golden girl and her chipped cup at the same time.

The day is warm. But the house isn't. It always seems cold in here, like there should be a fire, but it never gets lit up.

Mum cries in her room. I can hear her from mine. Her cries of anguish fill the house. They seep unto my bones and hurt my heart.

Carefully and slowly, avoiding the creaky floorboards, I make it to my parents' bedroom. The door is unlocked. It normally isn't.

Mum sits on her bed. Crying tears. She never cries when Dad is around. She turns and sees me standing in the doorway.

"Oh, my baby! My baby is here!" She sobs. "Come here, my angel." I go to Mum, letting her wrap her frail arms around me. Her whole body trembles with sadness.

She cries into my hair. Her golden hair. The only thing that links me to my mother, to this family at all. She cries until my hair drips salty tears.

Mum's favorite flowers were marigolds. Golden marigolds. Dad always bought them for her, that they reminded him of her beautiful curls.

I love the flower, too. Mum's flower. Our flower.

The sun begins peaking through the clouds. I place my hand on Mum's grave, the sunshine hitting my back, illuminating her tombstone.

Golden.

My mum... Tears fall from my eyes when I don't even realize. They hit my hand as it curls around the top of the sleek stone.

Moving from her grave, I go to the last Clark. The most foreboding one, like a dark cloud covers the words on the grave, a silent presence.

I barely look at my father's grave, only tossing a flower from my mother's bouquet at his tombstone. I don't know if he deserves much more than that.

"Don't look at me with those eyes, you brat!"

Hit.

It's like he's still around, watching me. Waiting for me to make another mistake. It's like the darkness is clawing at me again.

"I don't know why you are under my roof."

Slap.

Turning around, I leave the Clarks in the ground, and instead walk to the Rhodes waiting for me. Protecting me.

"Look at me, girl. Look at me and tell me you're nothing."

Kick.

Something I've never had before.

Something I hope I deserve.

———

Hi, loves!

I've finally come back from radio silence!! I mean, at least it wasn't three weeks? I know, I know, this was completely unacceptable of me! I'm humbly asking for forgiveness ;)

Anyway, what did you think of this chapter?

Let me know your thoughts! Praise or criticism helps me know what you like or dislike, and what I can improve on.

Please vote and comment!

Au revoir,

Eva