Orange Roses
Jul. 17th, 2023 09:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cornerofmadnessSomehow today the gym seemed to take the whole day (it didn't but I'd be lying if I said I knew what else I did today) Those old Curves machines at mom's gym makes me want to look around my place to see if there is a Curves around still. I like these machines.
Anyhow what does Orange Roses have to do with anything? It's today's prompt at
It was golden rod as the main but it's not quite late enough in the year for that around here. Mom and Dad's roses are not orange (and my own are pink) so no pics this time. Instead I wrote a story featuring orange roses.
Title: The Last Mile
Summary: Guilt drives him to seek out the resting places of his father’s victims but where does this road lead?
Rating: teen
Notes: Written for brumeier for the prompt Any, Any, Why is the last mile the hardest mile? (The Smiths) and also written for the allbingo prompt of shoveling snow and the sunshine challenge prompt of orange roses.
On AO3
It should have been harder to find her grave. Maybe it would be best if he could forget where she was. Malcolm knew where most of them rested. Not all of his father’s victims had been buried. Most of them had been cremated actually. In his nightmares turning them to ash was more to do with what his father had done with their bodies and less to do with preference.
Cressida Bennett had only been twenty years old when Martin Whitly spotted her shoveling snow. She was his first – that any of them knew of – and he hadn’t given her his ketamine tea. Was it because of her that his father started with the sedation? Malcolm hoped she had fought hard but if she had, there was no DNA under her fingernails. It’s why he didn’t exactly believe she was the first. Martin had controlled her too easily. Oh, he had believed that when he was young but now, with a year at Harvard under his belt, he was no longer so naïve.
Cressida’s grave rested near a wooded edge. Orange roses shaded her stone. Orange, wasn’t that for enthusiasm? Gah, why do I know that? He wrinkled his nose. That was because he was Jessica Whitly’s son. She knew all sorts of things about decorating, symbolism, fashion and cocktails and she was all about sharing.
Why am I here? What do I gain from being here? Malcolm knew the answer was nothing. He was paying penitence for his father’s crimes on his own accord. He couldn’t explain why and oh he’d been asked to explain many a time, by his mother, by Gil and Jackie. Malcolm probed his psyche multiple times, looking for that answer but he had none.
He was on a road with no destination with this. Visiting the dead did nothing to help anyone, least of all him. His therapist encouraged him to keep going down this road, hoping Malcolm would finally understand that there was no point to it. He couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t stop his father from killing in the first place since it had started before Malcolm had even been born. He couldn’t offer any real solace, could he? He’d considered trying that but what could he say? Sorry my dad murdered your loved one. What help would that be? Sorry I didn’t stop him faster. You’d think that no one would blame a kid for not turning his father in faster. But people had blamed him and his mother. Heck some would probably blame Ainsley if they could.
No, there was no happy destination at the end of his road. Do I keep traveling it like Dr. Le Deux wants me to, to prove to myself it’s pointless? Do I take a side road? Which one? The one that leads to talking to the families? The one where I never visit my father again and never think of this stuff again? I know which one Mom, Gil and Jackie would vote for. Malcolm sighed. This road was so long and he just couldn’t quit it yet. He didn’t see the side roads up on the horizon. Le Deux promised the chance to move off the road was just a mile ahead. Why is the last mile the hardest mile?
He splayed his hand on the sun-warmed granite, looking at her dates. Because you don’t want this road to end. You don’t want to get to the destination and have to make a choice. Because you don’t want to cut your father out even though you know you should. How many people have to tell you that? You fear your destination.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
At the sound of the woman’s voice, Malcolm jerked up and away from the headstone. He stared into Mrs. Carolyn Bennet’s face: Cressida’s mother. What should he do now? His knees quivered as Mrs. Bennet’s expression morphed from something soft and concerned to hard and suspicious.
“You’re far too young to have known Cressida. You’re not one of those serial killer junkies are you.” She took step closer as if to protect her child.
Malcolm took a step back, holding up his hands. “No, no ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude. I was nearby visiting a relative and….” His panicked brain flailed around for a plausible reason to be standing here. A glimpse of orange reeled him in. “I spotted her roses. They’re beautiful. I wanted a closer look. Sorry, I didn’t mean any harm.”
She melted some and ran her fingers over the bright petals. “They are beautiful, aren’t they? Just like my daughter was.” Her voice quavered a bit. “They’re Ring of Fire roses. I couldn’t offer Cressida an eternal flame, like the Kennedys but I could give her this.”
“I think that’s more fitting, ma’am. It’s more beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at him and Malcolm wanted so desperately to confess to her.
It will not bring her any peace.
“I have someone waiting for me. I should be going.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded and turned back to the headstone. Malcolm nearly ran away. Moving as fast as he could without looking bizarre, he followed the narrow road downhill. A bright red mini-Cooper – not so affectionately nicknamed The Speed Bump by Gil - waited for him. He slid into the passenger seat and Jackie scowled.
“Baby, you’re so pale. What happened?”
“Cressida’s mom showed up.”
“Oh sweetie.” Jackie muscled past the steering wheel to pull him into an awkward hug. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he lied and her tightening embrace told him she knew it was a lie. “I wanted to tell her who I was.”
“That would have been spectacularly bad,” she cautioned.
Malcolm bobbed his head. “I know. It’s why I didn’t. It would have only made things worse for her.”
“And you.” Jackie kissed his cheek and sat back.
“Yeah,” he replied non-committal. “I’ll be okay.”
“Mmm.” She started the Speed Bump. “I think a trip to someone’s favorite Chinese restaurant is in order.”
“Scallion pancakes?”
“Whatever you want, hon.”
Whatever he wanted? He wanted to come from a normal family with a father who didn’t kill a couple dozen people. He’d trade all of his mother’s wealth for that. He wanted to not feel this terrible guilt. He wanted to travel that last mile and be done with all this. What he said to Jackie was thanks and she let him sit undisturbed with his thoughts. She knew he needed to do so and unlike his mother who always wanted to fix his problems, Jackie let him deal on his own. No one could walk that last mile for him but maybe, if he let them, they could walk it with him.
Thanks to those who stepped up and beta read my Mall story. You're more appreciated than I can say. Already looking for betas for the ghost story (not done yet) but don't want to keep abusing the usual betas.
And since it's music Monday and I haven't heard really new music in a while, have this newish Shinedown that I used in a lyric challenge today.
Anyhow what does Orange Roses have to do with anything? It's today's prompt at
It was golden rod as the main but it's not quite late enough in the year for that around here. Mom and Dad's roses are not orange (and my own are pink) so no pics this time. Instead I wrote a story featuring orange roses.
Title: The Last Mile
Summary: Guilt drives him to seek out the resting places of his father’s victims but where does this road lead?
Rating: teen
Notes: Written for brumeier for the prompt Any, Any, Why is the last mile the hardest mile? (The Smiths) and also written for the allbingo prompt of shoveling snow and the sunshine challenge prompt of orange roses.
On AO3
It should have been harder to find her grave. Maybe it would be best if he could forget where she was. Malcolm knew where most of them rested. Not all of his father’s victims had been buried. Most of them had been cremated actually. In his nightmares turning them to ash was more to do with what his father had done with their bodies and less to do with preference.
Cressida Bennett had only been twenty years old when Martin Whitly spotted her shoveling snow. She was his first – that any of them knew of – and he hadn’t given her his ketamine tea. Was it because of her that his father started with the sedation? Malcolm hoped she had fought hard but if she had, there was no DNA under her fingernails. It’s why he didn’t exactly believe she was the first. Martin had controlled her too easily. Oh, he had believed that when he was young but now, with a year at Harvard under his belt, he was no longer so naïve.
Cressida’s grave rested near a wooded edge. Orange roses shaded her stone. Orange, wasn’t that for enthusiasm? Gah, why do I know that? He wrinkled his nose. That was because he was Jessica Whitly’s son. She knew all sorts of things about decorating, symbolism, fashion and cocktails and she was all about sharing.
Why am I here? What do I gain from being here? Malcolm knew the answer was nothing. He was paying penitence for his father’s crimes on his own accord. He couldn’t explain why and oh he’d been asked to explain many a time, by his mother, by Gil and Jackie. Malcolm probed his psyche multiple times, looking for that answer but he had none.
He was on a road with no destination with this. Visiting the dead did nothing to help anyone, least of all him. His therapist encouraged him to keep going down this road, hoping Malcolm would finally understand that there was no point to it. He couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t stop his father from killing in the first place since it had started before Malcolm had even been born. He couldn’t offer any real solace, could he? He’d considered trying that but what could he say? Sorry my dad murdered your loved one. What help would that be? Sorry I didn’t stop him faster. You’d think that no one would blame a kid for not turning his father in faster. But people had blamed him and his mother. Heck some would probably blame Ainsley if they could.
No, there was no happy destination at the end of his road. Do I keep traveling it like Dr. Le Deux wants me to, to prove to myself it’s pointless? Do I take a side road? Which one? The one that leads to talking to the families? The one where I never visit my father again and never think of this stuff again? I know which one Mom, Gil and Jackie would vote for. Malcolm sighed. This road was so long and he just couldn’t quit it yet. He didn’t see the side roads up on the horizon. Le Deux promised the chance to move off the road was just a mile ahead. Why is the last mile the hardest mile?
He splayed his hand on the sun-warmed granite, looking at her dates. Because you don’t want this road to end. You don’t want to get to the destination and have to make a choice. Because you don’t want to cut your father out even though you know you should. How many people have to tell you that? You fear your destination.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
At the sound of the woman’s voice, Malcolm jerked up and away from the headstone. He stared into Mrs. Carolyn Bennet’s face: Cressida’s mother. What should he do now? His knees quivered as Mrs. Bennet’s expression morphed from something soft and concerned to hard and suspicious.
“You’re far too young to have known Cressida. You’re not one of those serial killer junkies are you.” She took step closer as if to protect her child.
Malcolm took a step back, holding up his hands. “No, no ma’am. I’m sorry to intrude. I was nearby visiting a relative and….” His panicked brain flailed around for a plausible reason to be standing here. A glimpse of orange reeled him in. “I spotted her roses. They’re beautiful. I wanted a closer look. Sorry, I didn’t mean any harm.”
She melted some and ran her fingers over the bright petals. “They are beautiful, aren’t they? Just like my daughter was.” Her voice quavered a bit. “They’re Ring of Fire roses. I couldn’t offer Cressida an eternal flame, like the Kennedys but I could give her this.”
“I think that’s more fitting, ma’am. It’s more beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at him and Malcolm wanted so desperately to confess to her.
It will not bring her any peace.
“I have someone waiting for me. I should be going.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded and turned back to the headstone. Malcolm nearly ran away. Moving as fast as he could without looking bizarre, he followed the narrow road downhill. A bright red mini-Cooper – not so affectionately nicknamed The Speed Bump by Gil - waited for him. He slid into the passenger seat and Jackie scowled.
“Baby, you’re so pale. What happened?”
“Cressida’s mom showed up.”
“Oh sweetie.” Jackie muscled past the steering wheel to pull him into an awkward hug. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he lied and her tightening embrace told him she knew it was a lie. “I wanted to tell her who I was.”
“That would have been spectacularly bad,” she cautioned.
Malcolm bobbed his head. “I know. It’s why I didn’t. It would have only made things worse for her.”
“And you.” Jackie kissed his cheek and sat back.
“Yeah,” he replied non-committal. “I’ll be okay.”
“Mmm.” She started the Speed Bump. “I think a trip to someone’s favorite Chinese restaurant is in order.”
“Scallion pancakes?”
“Whatever you want, hon.”
Whatever he wanted? He wanted to come from a normal family with a father who didn’t kill a couple dozen people. He’d trade all of his mother’s wealth for that. He wanted to not feel this terrible guilt. He wanted to travel that last mile and be done with all this. What he said to Jackie was thanks and she let him sit undisturbed with his thoughts. She knew he needed to do so and unlike his mother who always wanted to fix his problems, Jackie let him deal on his own. No one could walk that last mile for him but maybe, if he let them, they could walk it with him.
Thanks to those who stepped up and beta read my Mall story. You're more appreciated than I can say. Already looking for betas for the ghost story (not done yet) but don't want to keep abusing the usual betas.
And since it's music Monday and I haven't heard really new music in a while, have this newish Shinedown that I used in a lyric challenge today.
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Date: 2023-07-19 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-07-19 02:46 pm (UTC)Also wish I was more together this month to help with the challenge. Been popping into various blogs to give them love though