Heirloom

Pushing back the straggling hair with a spare bobby pin, my ankles dangled beneath my stool. I could hear the friendly chatter from outside the closed doors. People were nervous; I could hear it in their laughter and rattling champagne glasses.

“I’m coming,” I muttered.

I’m coming.

“Go downstairs,” my mom placed her leftovers into the microwave. “Grandmom wants to see you.”

“Hm? Is there any reason?” I saw her all the time. She lived with us now. My existence on the couch was a landmark on her daily commute to the bathroom.  To ask for me specifically was an event. “Alright,” I murmured.

“mommom?” I flicked the light-switch in her room. Her room glowed with warmth as the TV projected its pale florescent light on her face. Her eyes didn’t move from the screen. “Mommom, you wanted to see me?” I stated again, louder.

“Oh.” She smiled. “Over there.” She pointed to the dresser beneath the TV. “There should be a tiny box somewhere up there. Can you get it?”

Beneath the pill divider and a bottle of Fosamax rested a small black box with silver figiree. “Sterling Silver” it read.  I looked at my mommom for a moment confused. Where had she gone to get this?

I lifted the lid carefully. Hidden within the white synthetic fibers of the box was a plastic bag filled with a white rose on a gold chain. I held the necklace delicately on my hand, running my fingertips over the finely carved points on the flower. Smooth as bone and as glossy as a pearl. Ivory.

Mommon hadn’t bought this.

I flung my arms around her and kissed her twice. “Thank you.” I hugged her again.

“Good. I wanted you to have it.” Tears flecked her faded eyes; I had never seen my grandmother cry before. “Daddy gave it Lillian.” Her wrinkled cheeks colored in memory. Daddy was her dad not mine and Lillian had been her mother.

“Oh Mommom,” I said and kissed her cheeks, adding to the moisture from her eyes.

The window was open and the brisk spring air whistled through the sheers. The lace of the dress cut off below my shoulders and didn’t offer warmth.
I sighed and walked to my dresser. The wooden drawers were warped and stubborn and the white paint chipped under my grasp.

Beneath the dust sat a familiar black box. The necklace sat untouched within its holdings.  Now, I pried open the plastic for the second time and dropped its contents in my palm.

Gently clasping the gold around my neck I let the rose fall loosely over my exposed collarbones. The ivory felt warm against my skin and cast its delicate spell over my entire body. I knew my grandmother’s elegance.

A soft rapping resounded from my door.

“Coming.” I whispered.

I felt the familiar points of the rose and breathed deeply.

You can do this.

I turned the knob and walked out of the room, the train of lace and satin trailing behind me.

Thank you Mommom. 

Anarchy

The moment of silence for the dead shook with bombs. 

Heads were bowed in prayer and minds were distracted by memories.

No one noticed the sky.

Cloaked in the purple clouds, the crafts launched their damnation upon the crowds. The people ran towards the bodies, covering them as if their arms alone could resist the bombs. The recently dug graves turned into trenches and barricades. Mud spread between the broken tombstones as blood mixed with the upturned soil.

Nothing could prevent the massacre. No one would cherish the corpses.

The morning dew offered the only burial shroud.  

Emotion was stemmed.