The Roses Atop A Coffin

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Red, purple, blue - every colored rose except black, but the saddest part was black would have been the most fitting. Sniffles and tears of pale bodies covered in black overwhelmed me with sadness. Bony branches of dead winter trees served as umbrellas to our snow covered heads. The winters wind blew, chilling my bones. You could see other head stones in the distance, representing other people's sniffles and tears. 

The roses were lying on top of two coffins; one belonged to my beautiful mother, who never laid a finger on anyone. Her deep blue eyes were enthrallingly beautiful, and were highlighted by her blond hair she always wore big and curled. She went above and beyond to protect me; the only side of her that wasn't nice came out when someone hurt me. In my eyes, she was an angel, but that kindness went beyond my father and me. She dedicated her life to helping others by becoming a paramedic. Numerous awards hung on the wall declaring to the world how many people she saved from death's evil grip, and yet she couldn't be saved herself. 

The other coffin belonged to my father. He was a well-known lawyer who provided great riches to our family, and he was equally as kind. His short brown hair and golden brown eyes fit his lawyer persona. He was always very matter-of-fact, but in a kind way that most lawyers couldn't pull off. Through hard work he founded Astrid Law, a law firm that became the largest firm in North Carolina. And now it's probably in the hands of some tyrant in a suit, like the rest of the lawyers. 

I stood between the coffins as they were slowly lowered into the ground, each one of them hanging from a single chain - six feet down. 

My parents were only six feet away and yet I couldn't save them. I couldn't do what my mother did for so many. I wanted to reach out and give them one last kiss, just one, but no, that would be too easy. Seeing the workers slowly bury my parents, I had to look away. I couldn't bear the thought of them covered in filth and bugs. To think that eventually insects would slowly tear away at their flesh, eating them down to the core disgusted me and tore at my heart. Every second I thought about their death, my chest ripped, until finally, my heart broke. 

"No! Don't do it!" I shouted at the workers, tears pouring out of my eyes like a faucet. One stopped to look back at me, his eyebrows knitted together, and his mouth frowning showing his sympathy, but he kept stabbing his shovel into the earth beside the two deep holes in the ground, pouring clods of dirt over the roses. Seconds later, I met Grandmama's stare. Her eyes were squinted and her nose was wrinkled. She was furious. 

She just became my legal guardian, and neither of us was happy about it. The funeral was the first time I had seen her in my life. The few hours I'd been with her were enough for me to know I was not going to enjoy my last year of being a teenager. Besides my first impression of her, she left my mom with several nice whipping scars on her back, and I must say it scared the hell out of me. I mean, whipping your child? I could hardly believe it. Even with how rude she'd been to me, I couldn't fathom the thought. I had hoped she became nicer with age, but my hopes fell quickly. 

I was almost seven when I first noticed the scars on my mom. She had hung her work shirt on the shower curtain to dry but left it in there when she was getting dressed. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when she ran in, wearing pants and a bra. I saw the scars left by whips as she left the room. On the way to school, I asked, but she told me, "Don't worry your little head about it," but I was too curious. I asked about it quite frequently and she never told me. I eventually grew tired of asking. The week after I turned seventeen, I saw the scars again when we went swimming in our backyard, and asked. Finally, she explained everything to me. From then on, I didn't like Grandmama. 

Saying what I said was a disgrace to her. Everything in her presence had to be perfect, everything aside from herself that is. In her eyes, I should have just watched, not shedding a tear like she did. She looked perfect on the outside due to her vain ways, but inside, she was far from it. 

I inherited my parent's money, and I thought maybe my Grandmama wanted the money herself, but she was a billionaire. I don't know how she became a billionaire - or anything about her past for that matter. She shielded her life from my mom and me. It was like we weren't allowed to hear about her past, which made me want to know about it so much more. 

As they finished packing the dirt over the roses, Grandmama came up and wrapped her cold bony fingers around my shoulder so tight it hurt. She forced me to turn my body and pulled me to her limousine, shoving me into its black depths. The blacks seats made of leather were cold, and the windows were tinted so nobody could see her vile self-looking back. It was the perfect car for her. 

Grandmama sat facing me, the chauffeur closing the door behind her. She crossed her legs and placed her hands on her knees. On the outside, she was perfect, but her soul was evil. She had perfect manners and wonderful posture. I had no clue how old she was, but her body looked fifty. She had strawberry blond hair twisted in a bun, covered by the black veil she wore to the funeral, although I had I feeling she was always dressed for a funeral. She wore a long black dress that screamed of morbidity. She looked like a reaper disguised in an innocent woman's face. 

Her face was slender and bony, her cheek bones prominent. She wore full makeup no matter the occasion. Her skin as pale as snow, her lips as red as a rose, her cheeks rosy like an apple, her eye lids purple as an amethyst, and her eyelashes as black as coal. She always wore the same makeup, and I have to admit it was becoming of her. She was the most beautiful fifty year old woman there had ever been. For some reason, being in a car with Grandmama felt completely wrong, and every part of my being wanted to leave. 

Grandmama's butler had been in the car accident in which my parents had died. Seeing as the butler didn't get hurt and he was out on bail, paid be Grandmama, I had a feeling deep inside, almost like an inkling that Grandmama meant to kill them. I couldn't think of why, but I just couldn't shake the hunch. I really hoped it wasn't true. She just made it so hard to disprove. 

As the limo started to move, Grandmama cleared her throat, bringing my attention to her piercing green gaze. 

"Leeonith, there are rules you must follow in my home. One: don't ever address me as anything but Grandmama. Two: all of my servants shall be addressed as Sir or Ma'am. Three: meals shall be served promptly at eight, one, and six. No snacks shall be permitted to you, and if you are late for any meal you shall go without food for the remainder of the day. Four: No flirting, fornicating, or showing signs of affections with any girls. Five: you shall be awoken at 6, be ready for the day by 6:45, and commence chores until breakfast. After breakfast you shall continue chores until lunch, and then you shall once again continue chores. After supper, you shall do chores until 8, when you will get ready for bed by 8:30 and be to sleep before nine. Your only free time is 8:30 to 9:30 on Saturday and you will be to sleep before ten. Do you understand?" Her speech was long and imposing, and somehow she never seemed to take a breath. I was terrified, only an hour of free time a week? I was scared to know, but I was curious about my chores. I wanted to know what I'd spend the rest of my non-adult life doing. 

"Yes, Grandmama, but what are my chores?" I asked, my voice weak, all manly-ness gone. I was being as polite as I could manage. She looked appalled, as if I had spit on her, but only her face moved. The rest of her body was like a statue of perfect posture. It was like she trained her body not to react to her own emotions. I couldn't stand it. 

"Never speak unless spoken to. I see your mother failed at teaching you any discipline!" she said, her face angered with a tone so hateful, it could kill. The way she spoke of my mother enraged me. 

"What did you say about my mother?" I said from behind my teeth, holding in my anger. 

"I was wrong, your mother failed completely as a parent," she said calmly, looking all around me, but never directly at me. 

I was completely livid. I never cared about people insulting me, but when they talk about my parents, they got another thing coming. I completely snapped, wanting to make her feel as awful as I did. 

Jumping up from my seat, I leaned closer to her and shouted, "Never talk about my mother that way, you old bitch!" I wanted to insult her as best I could without being killed. 

She jumped back in her seat; her posture lost, and slapped my face with more force than I had ever felt in my life. "No supper for you," she said, calming herself, getting back into her perfect posture. There was most likely a mark as red as blood on my face from her surprising strength, but I wasn't afraid of her, although my face was throbbing in pain. 

"You're bluffing! Do you realize that would be child abuse? I will report you," I said sternly. I was trying to frighten her, but I wasn't bluffing. There was no way she could keep me in her hell-hole. I'd call the cops as soon as I could if she didn't feed me, or I'd run away. 

"Report me! My house is without electricity, everything is lit with candles, which in turn, means no phones, and you think that is child abuse? You have yet to see anything," she said, looking out the window, observing the scenery. She seemed perfectly calm, as if she didn't just give me a massive threat. She even had a slight smile on her wrinkled lips. 

From then on, the ride was silent. I was surprised she didn't punish me for my posture. It was like she came from one of my worst nightmares. I wished I was in the car when my parents were killed and have died with them. I didn't want to live with Grandmama, but I knew I would be strong. I knew somehow I would escape, even if I had to fight off an army of her servants and her. I was brave, maybe a little reckless, but brave none the less. 

We had past the cemetery and all its winter trees. Beneath the snow was a grass covered field, hiding all the decaying bodies in the ground. We drove past the snow coated Fossie Street, and past the city hall when Grandmama rolled her eyes, showing her disrespect towards society. Fossie Street was the main road in the city, passing the town high-school, mall, and grocery store. A lot of teenagers walked around it. 

I recognized some people sitting around Fossie Street, but none of them mattered to me, or were important in any way that mattered, but in a way, I envied them. Their lives was so simple: high school, love, drugs, alcohol. I never was into any of those things like the rest of the teenage population, and I found them so pathetic, complaining about breaking a nail, or losing their drugs. I, on the other hand, had to deal with real problems. I had Grandmama. 

Once we left the main city we drove down an old road lined with trees, leaving tracks behind us on the snow covered road. We past an old burnt down farm house, but after that it was all trees once again. Several minutes later, there was a turn off of the road, and I realized it was the entrance to a huge, imposing mansion - my new home. 

There was a huge gray cloud over the mansion, covering it in shade. I knew the weather was just a coincidence, but it definitely wasn't a good sign. As the limo drove around the huge angelic-looking fountain in front, it stopped, and one of her servants opened the door. I got out of the limo first, cutting her off on purpose, just to piss her off. It felt kind of childish, seeing as I was seventeen, but so what! She was a horrible person. She pushed me out when I did, but I managed to stay my feet, after stumbling slightly. She got out and we walked into the mansion. 

It was dark and everything was black. Behind the main double door entrance was a grand hall. It was a giant room with stairs on both sides leading up to six different floors; each had their own doors with halls most likely leading to more doors. There was a large, crest shaped window above the door, but it was made of black stained glass. There was a huge candle-bearing chandelier hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room just barely enough to be visible. The actual chandelier left a large shadow on most of the large open space. 

The mansion had an awful feel. Just being inside it gave me a horrible feeling inside, but I couldn't pinpoint why I had it. It was like something dreadfully morbid was happening, but it was the mansion of a woman over fifty years old. She couldn't kill someone if she tried, right? She was too old to, although the strength she showed when she slapped me made me question that notion. 

"Where is everyone?" she asked angrily, rhetorically. 

"How the hell would I know?" I said, like a smart-ass. She glared at me and I decided to stop talking. Something about the way she looked at me, something deep inside her eyes, screamed at me, warning me to stay away. I never knew a look could affect me so much. 

"I said, where is everyone?!" she shouted as people began to fill the room. Easily over a hundred people came in, forming a semicircle around me and Grandmama. They seemed to stand in clusters, most likely their families. They all stood perfectly upright, their arms by their side, and they didn't move. They ranged in uniforms (I counted three), age, and gender. I saw children and soon-to-be-dead people, showing Grandmama never let them retire, and she completely ignored Child Labor Laws. 

"This is most of the daytime staff. The rest is waiting to be punished. The nighttime staff should never meet you. You will always be asleep when they work, and they all work outside. If you do meet them, you will not like the consequences." I nodded, and she approached the left most group, although, she only made me want to meet the nighttime staff even more.  

"This is the Siegfried family." she said. 

A tall, brunette woman and a strong, muscular man stood there. The woman was dressed as a maid, along with all the other women, and the man was wearing a black chef uniform, like half of the men. They both looked at me with eyes of pity, but they seemed to warn me of Grandmama. I smiled at them, and they briefly smiled back, but then returned their gaze to Grandmama. For some reason, they looked worried. 

"Where is that child of yours!?" She said, aggravated. 

"Madame Amelia, please forgive him, he is waiting for you in the back as you told him too," the man said. I felt awful for them, and their child. I mean, I knew Grandmama wouldn't admit she was wrong in front of everyone, even if it was unfair. I could tell they weren't lying, and I could tell by the spreading embarrassment on Grandmama's face that she knew they were right. 

"Lies! All three of you shall get no dinner," she said, scornfully.  

"Thank you for your kindness," they all said in unison, hanging their heads in disappointment and sadness. 

Shifting to the right, she continued, "This is Mr. Oaksworth." He was tall but his butler uniform was covered in dirt, and his hair looked matted. I again smiled, but he didn't take his eyes off of Grandmama. What did Grandmama do to him? 

She shifted again. "The Lillian's." It was a family with two small little girls. They looked to be twins, somewhere around 6 years old. The two girls, along with their mother, were dressed in maid uniforms, the father a butler. The girls had their auburn hair in pigtails, tied with ribbon. Their faces were bruised, and I wanted to grab them and run away. But did I? Definitely not. 

Grandmama continued introducing me to the forty-two families, and twenty-four single people. They were all bruised, battered, or dirty. I only remembered the first few families' names, the others all meshed together as I was realizing how long the introduction was going to take as more and more people showed. Every time they would, Grandmama would inform them that they didn't get dinner and they would "thank her for her kindness," which I found insane. I would thank her for her abuse, but I knew she had probably broken all of their spirits. 

It angered me to think with all the money Grandmama had, she couldn't afford to take care of them. It's not like it would be that hard when you have billions of dollars. Not only did they look abused, but the way she treated them outraged me. She showed them no respect, and yet they had to practically kiss her feet. And to think that there were more servants. How many servants did Grandmama need? 

"What are you all doing here still?" she asked, "I am obviously done with you. Get out of my sight!" Within seconds, the crowd scattered, some exiting through doors in the back of the room, but most of them scurrying up the stairs. 

"Leeonith, from now on, you are nothing more than a servant to me. Do you understand? You will not get any special treatment. In fact, you shall be treated worse. Do you understand?" What! Treated worse them those poor people? I see she wasn't lying when she said I had seen nothing. I was scared to look at her and I desperately wanted to get away from her. My headstrong bravery I had fell as the cruel reality of Grandmama hit me. 

Grandmama started up the stairs to the left and I followed. She walked up to the fifth floor gradually, with her black dress dragging along the stairs behind her. All the doors were wooden with golden handles, and the walls were made of plaster. The ground was made by wooden floor boards, and the ceiling was made of some black material. I could tell she was wearing high heels from the "clunks" they made every time she stepped. The hallways were long and had many turns. It could almost be considered a maze. 

Finally, she stopped by a door, unlocked it, and entered. Inside the room was a twin sized bed and a door to the left. There was a closet against the back wall, and candelabra on each side of the door, with smaller ones on the dressers, one on each side of the bed. At the foot of my bed was my suitcase. The bed had dark red sheets and a black pillow. It was quite typical, except that the color scheme of black and red just made it unsettling. 

"This is your room. You shall stay here until tomorrow. Today shall be the only day you will ever be exempt from your chores. But, because of your juvenile delinquency, you shall not eat until tomorrow morning." Are you kidding! She wasn't bluffing. She left the room, locking the door behind her, and she closed the door so fast, it blew out a candle, making it even darker. 

The door to the left led to a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and bathtub. The floor was covered in black and red tiles, the wall and ceiling being red. There was another candelabra in the corner near the tub. 

The closet had dark, wooden doors and it opened a foot and a half deep with a clothing rod and a shelf at the top. I closed the closet doors and walked to my suitcase, dropping to my knees and opening it. Using the hangers that were on the rod, I hung my shirts and pants, and put my underwear in the drawers of the dresser to the left of the bed. 

Then, I saw my mother's locket. I picked it up by its gold chain, its small heart dangling at the bottom, and opened the elaborate golden heart to see a picture of my mom on the left and my dad on the right. As the tears slid down my face, hugging my cheek, I closed the locket

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