Carnations - Excerpt
First page-and-a-half draft
The breeze billowed her dress in front of her as a dewdrop streamed down the curve of her cheek. It was done. In a field of carnations and lilies, there she stood, as a petal-less stem. Down at her roots lay the remnants of her petals, dozens of rosaries once held by members of their family’s church group, pictures of the two of them together, their family and friends. Beneath that, her sister Julia’s remains. Mariel’s sister Julia was just 18 years old when she passed away. No one told Mariel how, just that Julia “was sick”.
Mariel was none the wiser. Here, at 11 years old, she learned what death was, what it felt like, and what it took. In Mariel's mind, Julia was taken from her. She didn’t understand, and that made her scared. Her mind swirled with feelings of confusion. Her chest felt like it was burning. It overwhelmed her. Usually, when someone wanted to take something from her, they’d at least ask her permission first. But Death didn’t ask, it took. They said her mother was taken as well, but she had no memory of that, as her mother was taken when she was a baby. So it didn’t matter much then. But it mattered now. Because now, she was alone.
“Mariel,” a gentle, trembling voice, had broken her concentration.
A younger woman, her cousin Angie, who was 6 years older than her sister Julia, 24 years old.
“Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”
Mariel was silent. Her red cheeks spoke for her.
An older gentleman, standing as tall as at least two of her, placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Your cousin asked you a question, Mar.”
It was her uncle Robert. An angry, bitter man. The type of man that felt betrayed by the universe when even the slightest thing happened to him. Mariel didn’t like him very much, she didn’t like angry, bitter people.
She stayed quiet.
“Mar!” Robert had quietly growled at her.
She hated that nickname. She hated that it was always cut short from her real name. Like no one could be bothered to finish it. To really know her. Her sister did, her sister knew all kinds of things. Like how to speak her mind clearly, how to drive, what the capital of each state was, and more importantly, what Mariel was really like.
Mariel wanted to shake her uncle’s hand off. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs,
“Don’t you dare touch me!” And yet, her response couldn’t be farther from what she wanted. “No…,” she spoke softly. The sound of her voice was so soft, you couldn’t even call it a whisper. “Wha-, speak up, I can’t hear you.” His stern tone stung in her heart.
“I said, no.” She said, this time with a sharpness. Or how Robert would take it: “brattiness”.
Uncle Robert pursed his lips together. Shaking his head as he patted her on the shoulder before clasping his hands together at his waist. His body replicated “mourning”, but Mariel could tell he was angry. She didn’t care. She could feel herself care less about anything anymore.
“Okay honey,” Angie’s voice broke, but managed a somber but compassionate smile. She held Mariel’s hand.
“You don’t have to say anything, it’s okay.”
Angie leaned over and kissed the top of Mariel's head.