Nothing Will Change

Chapter 30

Several days had passed where everything was at peace, where the sun actually shined and no Blinder could be seen as unhappy. Or sober. Long since were the days of the inspector, as he had vanished along with Grace. No concerns. No danger. Just a prosperous company who had the world at their fingertips. Though even in the wake of something pristine, there were cracks where darkness could slip through and break down the very heart. Rose knew in stories when all is seemingly going well, is where the last twist will unsettle the most. But with the clouds peaking through blue and the warmth of spring prickling the weeds that got through the concrete, there was little evidence of anything going wrong.

Rose was sewing the pocket back on Finn's blazer when Polly shot her head through the door. In her hand was a letter with a pressed flower attached, Rose instantly knowing who it was from. She tied off the thread to Finn's blazer, which he ripped carelessly playing, and sent him on his way, knowing he'd soon find a reason to come back. It seemed like he would come back for anything because he knew it was Rose who was fixing it, even a hole in his sock was enough for her special attention. Polly smiled as Finn raced past her, handing Rose the letter and sitting across from her.

"I'm to assume this is from your parents?" She dug in her pocket for a cigarette.

"Yes, they go quite far with the flowers," Rose's focus was on the letter as previously she mentioned Tommy in her last post, and was hoping to hear their comments.

"I'd like to see their fancy words," Polly grinned seeing Rose's face light up just at a piece of paper.

Tearing it open, Rose unfolded the letter and set the pressed flower aside, showing Polly the handwriting before she read it herself. Her mother always wrote in a clean cursive, which as a kid she could barely read and still shocks herself that it could be eligible.

My Rose,

If only I could have been there to tell you the news, however I am not certain I would know the correct words to express myself. A few nights ago, whilst I was out, your father was killed. I have consulted a coroner, and he has found it to be a cause of malice, which I do not feel comfortable discussing without you here with me. My dear Rose, please return, I am so very proud of the lady you have been to the city, but the country needs you now. I need you. I hope I will be seeing you very soon, and we can discuss the causality of this heinous crime.

All the best sweet girl

A dream shatters as it forms. The foundations are gone, you're falling... You're falling... Was is it a rainbow or all the flowers in their fields that Rose saw then? The map she had, her final destination drawn by the hands of a dead man, tainting the journey she so desperately wanted to go on. All she could see was him, the grey hairs and dark green eyes, the sun, the sky and the stars now. Her mender, her hero, her father. The dream creater, the one who sat and conceptualized the very life she is heading towards... Gone. How are you meant to feel when you lose a father? There's an unexplained grief that forms like the weeds form in the flowers, and when you touch it it hurts. It stings. And all you can think is the pain that feels everlasting, and if only their was a leaf nearby to save you.

It stung. Being told over a letter. The ink slid down the page and into her fingertips, up through her forearms where it attached to her brain, vandalizing her. It scratched down her eardrums where Polly was asking if she was all right, and choked her where she wanted to reply. She could burn the page but all the ink was on her, it was a plain piece of paper now soiled and wasted. With glazed eyes, she let Polly take the paper and read it herself, her putting a hand to her mouth as she finished it. It was such a short note, barely acknowledging the joy of her last letter, all her pleasantries washed away for the oil stain her mother wrote.