#ccove.start

[censoriious-blog]

      grant sits quietly behind the counter at his shop, picking at petals on a dead flower. scattered around him were the arrangement sketches for the 25th anniversary of his parent’s passing. ‘ kaffir lilies won’t be in bloom, mama. why do those have to be your favorite? i s’ppose i could always…force bloom? ’ he’s mumbling to himself and to whoever was occupying his shop. ah, but? TOO CLOSE - they were crowding the flowers. ‘ hey! y’breathe on ‘em, you buy ‘em! ’

[jesspryors]

          the graveyard’s quiet at this hour --- just a few minutes past sunset, with only sparse remnants of daylight hanging in the air, clinging like morning dew to the rows of headstones. jess spends more time here than with the living, these days ; she feels more at home here, among the dead and the mourners, living somewhere in between. fresh flowers, placed on the grave of a man who died decades ago, already begin to wilt in the cold, wet air, and the water gathered in the grass soaks through jess’s shoes to her socks. though the rains have stopped, drops still fall from the trees, following the tracks across her face left by tears.

          she identified maya’s backpack that afternoon. faded blue canvas, with flowers drawn on in black sharpie, and a new decoration, recently added : a stain, rusted-iron red. like a bloated, swollen body, the image floats to the surface of jess’s mind, and stops her in her tracks, her eyes fluttering shut. she sees maya before her like it’s real --- her lips are red, and when she opens her mouth, her teeth fall out one by one. she’s bleeding, stains spreading dark across her yellow raincoat, oozing down the front of her shirt and dripping thick and warm onto her shoes. she reaches for jess, tiny hands vice-like around her forearm and shaking, harder than any child could... 

          ‘ --- maya ! ’ she startles awake, eyes wide, and for a minute doesn’t realize she’s been dreaming --- until she takes in her surroundings, and embarrassment and sleep stains her cheeks a splotchy red. jess thinks of her newly acquired handgun, tucked away in a locked kitchen cabinet, as she rises to her feet. ‘ oh my god, i’m --- ’ she shakes her head, unable to think of any reasonable excuse to be sleeping in a cemetery. ‘ i must have sat down and lost track of time. ’ 

[turniitoff-blog1]

       ‘ ‘scuse me! ’ she’s got a stray set of keys in the hand that’s waving frantically. ‘ i think these might be yours. my son has procured quite the collection of keys lately. haven’t’chya wyatt? ’ her child was hidden behind her - little hands locked onto the hem of her shirt.  ‘ i’m not sure what’s gotten into him - been doing this for a little over a week now. ’ something was off  but she’d have that conversation with him later. right now she needed him to apologize. she set a hand on his head, ‘ what’d’you say, wyatt? ’ if you listened real close, you’d be able to hear a tiny lil’ ’m'sorry’.

[bachmanhq-blog]

“ OH COME ON  . . .” palm flat against the hood of the vehicle, her physique leaned over the sour image of the complex engine she was no longer acquainted with. alyssa’s father taught her, o n c e, how to work with a car if a damage ever occurs, but that was when she was twelve. fact: this is the same damn car. she was hesitant to take a seat in the vehicle, for it could have shattered by just a blow, but it was the only transportation she had aside from her feet which was not a bad choice. alyssa just wanted to drive to town---that’s all. with her phone out, she was trying to reach out for her parents, but there was no answer. just her luck. “please, answer the phone. come on, dad, i need your help.” now she was talking to herself . . . wonderful. 

[invstigatess-blog]

❛  —  i  know  ,  this  probably  looks  bad  so  uh  ,  let  me  introduce  myself  .  ;  elaine  o’sullivan  ,  investigative  journalist  .  yes  ,  my  hair  is  pink  .  no  ,  my  beanie  is  not  for  sale  .  ❜  hand  is  held  in  greeting   ,  though  the  gesture  seems  a  bit  strange  ,  given  that  she’s  just  been  caught  thumbing  through  their  things  .  ❛  i  can  also  totally  explain  why  i  was  looking  through  your  stuff  .  ❜  she  totally  can’t  .

[jesspryors]

‘ no, i’m fine --- thanks. ’ jess waves away the proffered cup of tea ; one of so many small kindnesses these days, as if people thought enough thoughtful gestures might still the terror racing in her veins. suddenly, being inside is stifling, the air around her too thin to catch her breath. she exudes calm even as her mind panics, standing and making her way slowly to the exit. outside, feet planted firmly on the pavement ( though her hands shake ) she lights a cigarette, something she hasn’t done in years --- since before she had such a compelling reason not to. her breath shakes as she exhales into the afternoon air, watching two children race each other across the street, laughing wildly.