Thread: Flowers in her hair the day he died (Raivh and SomethingEsoteric)

Wh-wheres my shoe? - no, my foots all wet and cold. I need my shoe. Mmgaaawh it hurts though. Grace beat herself up for those words she beat herself up for all of it. When the paramedics arrived she was sprawled out in a patch of snow and flowers, a crowd of onlookers assembled to avert oncoming traffic and see the surreal beauty of the tragedy on the high way. When most people thought of these sorts of accidents on the highway they imagined overturned lumber trucks or tankers spouting gouts of dark viscous liquids, black smoke and fire, utter chaos the memories she had of that day were, and she hated to admit, they were all beautiful even if horribly unsettling to the point those images of beauty had her waking in screams and chilled sweats. She remembered the cool air, not damp or heavy refreshingly brisk, freshly fallen snow painting the world a pleasant fluffy white, a soft coddling breeze, a languid smile on her face and his. Theyd had a fabulous night in the city, shed gotten a kiss hed gotten an autograph Grace didnt know the band theyd gone to see, just that there were a lot of cute girls at the show with piercings and black makeup it was a nice change from the judgemental stares and flannel that came across this town in spades. Her ears had run for three long days after, her side still stung, her hip bruised and scraped down one side of her leg up to her ribs, also bruised upon impact, her eyes were swollen and dark, more than usual scabs she could feel under her hair but couldnt quite pick through long, choppy, ugly yellow brown and blonde strands. The first responders said she was ejected from the vehicle, one of those ironic instances where not wearing a seat belt might have saved a life but none of the investigators would agree to the sentiment. Where black billowing smoke didnt smear away the scene all that could really be seen was snow kicked up and so many little petals of a floral rainbow, like splotches of radiant paint upon a white canvas with memories of grey unsaturated by acetone she hated how peaceful it all seemed in her deafened state. The EMS said you were so lost when they finally brought you back, it was touch and go for a second I bet like that show on TV. they said you told them youd been drinking, yknow they found Phils rolling papers and hrmph marijuana . You promised me you wouldnt smoke marijuana anymore Grace now Phil is Now Helen thats enough, bleary conversations in hospital wards, Grace wished shed been in a worse state but shed barely been hurt in some twist of fate she, the apathetic, lazy young adult still behaving like a teenager, she was the one whod barely got a scratch, her brother a shining gold heart really going places in his life well, it was taken away. Grace had been beside herself there, she wanted to be left alone, maybe acted like she was worse off than she really was in an attempt to drive the point home. She didnt want to answer any more questions, she didnt want to go over her statement, she didnt want to tell her mom they had drank and they had got high and Phil shouldnt have been driving and she just couldnt forgive herself that in that moment of shock in the back of the ambulance all she could think about was how shed lost her shoe and she was cold when her brother was crushed beneath the side of that damn delivery truck. well at least there will be no argument of which shop caters to the flowers at the wake she remembered whispering bitterly into the hospital bed pillow, she remembered hearing her mom begin to answer in aghast then heard her dad take her wrist and walk her out of the room. Grace were going to the funeral home. Mmmngh kay. Your brother would have wanted you to help. And how exactly would she have known that? fifteen minutes. Grace hummed from under her downy duvet sanctum, the only place she really felt solid the past two days. With a tired groan she hobbled across the cold floor, she was still sore all over, the proof of her ordeal still quite stark on her naturally tan and yet pale skin. She, like Phil, was a mutt of sorts, a strange combination of their also strangely bred parents. Her mother was of South African and European descent, her father Irish-Anglo-Saxon. Grace had her mothers snub nose, her fathers blue eyes, her complexion on the fairer side of mulatto with a stippling of sunspots along the bridge of that flat swollen nose, eyes an unsettling sort of turquoise behind swollen bruised lids. Her lips turned to a pout in the mirror, pitted and still split in some places. Fff As if looking upon her face wasnt enough she almost had to ritualistically look upon every blemish the crash left her with, the broken nails on her slender fingers, the scrapes up her toned thighs and calves, the little scrape along her modest tummy and a scratch underneath her less than modest breasts, fading bruises strewn about just the same it was all going away but the more they shrunk the darker and more unsightly they seemed to get the doctor had joked he was sure she wouldnt have a scar on her come a week or two, that was before he learned her brother was DoA, hardly seemed bright sides were appropriate after that. She wasnt exactly losing time, not in the frightening sort of I cant remember how I got here way, but everything seemed to jump forward without her ever since, like her body was going through the motions but her mind was elsewhere, she wasnt tuning out the world, she just felt numb to it, getting dressed was no exception, driving to the funeral home wasnt either. She didnt wear the same look of overwhelmed sorrow her mom and dad did, she wore a vacant look that found the window and nothing more, she didnt wear black formal clothing like her mother and father either but rather jeans, a white tank top layered over a burgundy tank top and a ratty old grey zip-up hoody, hair a disheveled pony tail and a collection of hap-hazard clips to keep the choppy locks out of her face she looked more like a public service announcement for how to detect a hung-over young adult, not exactly a grieving sister everybody had their process though. In a small town, everybody knew everybody at least vicariously, everybody was at least vaguely familiar in the same way Mara was no exception, -just like, chances were, Mara knew her Grace the girl who hung out outside the coffee shop with other shit-head kids, smoked cigarettes and didnt do what a girl her age outta.