Post by Connor on May 8, 2023 21:50:36 GMT -5
Entrance From: Annual Flower Blossom Fete
"I heard you had died..."
The woman did not appear to be morose in her sentiment. Her crow's feet told Connor that she was glad to have heard wrong. His mother stood proudly at 5'5, with her hands clasped behind her back. Expecting more of her son than fragility, she waited to be approached, appearing to be as surprised as he was to see her. They embraced long enough for familial sentiment to be conveyed. "Look out.." Her words were spoken with the same strength that comes from defying frailty. His mother's countenance was marred only by her stubborn expression. The willpower behind her words demanded immediate empathy. Connor responded with an uneasy smile, "It's good to see you, Mum." He stood back, for once taking a hard look at what it was like to be left behind. Despite all the wonders and magics in this world or any other, Connor's stomach churned thinking about the immense hardships his mother may have endured in his absence.
There were wreaths for the fallen servicemen and women of The Clover Kingdom. Regretfully, there were more than a few. Flowers had been respectfully strewn around crosses ceremoniously placed the days before. The names adorning them were immediately recognisable. Heroes past and present were honoured and held accountable for their deeds. If Connor died, he'd be lucky to be given a pauper's funeral or an unmarked hole in the ground. He turned to his mother and spoke as eloquently as he may. "Lavenders and lilacs, regal and blooming." He stumbled a little but tried his best. His mother was taken aback by his ambiguous statement. However, her response was glib and knowing. "How like my son, my dearest, ever-assuming." It was given after a short pause that insinuated prior thought and recognition of her son's eclectic persuasion for otherwise unfathomable colloquial expressions. After a short contrite reciprocal refrain, Connor continued. "Daffodils and daisies, unlike orchids and roses?" He was expecting an intrinsic answer, but his mother meekly said, "Wilting opportunity and a door that closes." Nothing prepared him for her response. His mother was straight to the point. Delicate, perhaps, but as sharp as a thorn. His confidence failed him, and Connor was curious. Tears choked him, "How long?"
"I've had until dawn for about two years now."
Connor found himself inundated with excuses and lies that he crafted to soothe his mind, making it difficult to approach the situation logically. Disillusioned by the reality of her ailment, Connor fought against his propensity for finding silver linings. He squinted his eyes and gazed into the distance, over her shoulder, as if the solution to the problem was just within his grasp. Connor's mind was filled with guilt and confusion while his body maintained its composed appearance. Maybe he had become accustomed to hoping for better things, even when the reality didn't match. Perhaps he allowed his mother's situation to overcome his innate pride. However, he remained unchanged but with an increased sense of discontent. After exchanging a significant glance, his mother and he shifted their attention towards the beautiful floral arrangements and bouquets. The two of them, as a family, presented a sprig of rosemary and a single poppy to the unnecessarily boisterous judge of the contest. It was a symbolic catharsis for those that had gathered in memory of those that had served.
Guards had been pointing their fingers in his direction for a while now. Connor noticed this and meekly began planning his departure. His mother, being no fool, was wise to the situation and said to her son, "If you can't be good, be good at it." Hugged and kissed him on the cheek goodbye and bee-lined for the guards. Only one guard continued being suspicious of him despite the elderly lady's need for assistance. The guard spoke to the rogue making his exit, "Wait. Don't I know you?" Hearing these familiar words, as he had a hundred times before in similar situations, Connor walked away and avoided the misunderstanding. Connor had always relied on his ability to sense the shift from suspicion to distrust as his warning sign to evade the authorities and avoid getting caught. This was the only signal he needed to stay safe in his line of work. A jaded Connor walked disinterestedly through the crowds of magical knights and civilians celebrating, lost in the inconsistent reverie of thought ever apparent after reading those words in the archives. Connor always questioned when the infernal pits of hell would open up and swallow him, an ordinary citizen.
Word Count: 759
Exit.
"I heard you had died..."
The woman did not appear to be morose in her sentiment. Her crow's feet told Connor that she was glad to have heard wrong. His mother stood proudly at 5'5, with her hands clasped behind her back. Expecting more of her son than fragility, she waited to be approached, appearing to be as surprised as he was to see her. They embraced long enough for familial sentiment to be conveyed. "Look out.." Her words were spoken with the same strength that comes from defying frailty. His mother's countenance was marred only by her stubborn expression. The willpower behind her words demanded immediate empathy. Connor responded with an uneasy smile, "It's good to see you, Mum." He stood back, for once taking a hard look at what it was like to be left behind. Despite all the wonders and magics in this world or any other, Connor's stomach churned thinking about the immense hardships his mother may have endured in his absence.
There were wreaths for the fallen servicemen and women of The Clover Kingdom. Regretfully, there were more than a few. Flowers had been respectfully strewn around crosses ceremoniously placed the days before. The names adorning them were immediately recognisable. Heroes past and present were honoured and held accountable for their deeds. If Connor died, he'd be lucky to be given a pauper's funeral or an unmarked hole in the ground. He turned to his mother and spoke as eloquently as he may. "Lavenders and lilacs, regal and blooming." He stumbled a little but tried his best. His mother was taken aback by his ambiguous statement. However, her response was glib and knowing. "How like my son, my dearest, ever-assuming." It was given after a short pause that insinuated prior thought and recognition of her son's eclectic persuasion for otherwise unfathomable colloquial expressions. After a short contrite reciprocal refrain, Connor continued. "Daffodils and daisies, unlike orchids and roses?" He was expecting an intrinsic answer, but his mother meekly said, "Wilting opportunity and a door that closes." Nothing prepared him for her response. His mother was straight to the point. Delicate, perhaps, but as sharp as a thorn. His confidence failed him, and Connor was curious. Tears choked him, "How long?"
"I've had until dawn for about two years now."
Connor found himself inundated with excuses and lies that he crafted to soothe his mind, making it difficult to approach the situation logically. Disillusioned by the reality of her ailment, Connor fought against his propensity for finding silver linings. He squinted his eyes and gazed into the distance, over her shoulder, as if the solution to the problem was just within his grasp. Connor's mind was filled with guilt and confusion while his body maintained its composed appearance. Maybe he had become accustomed to hoping for better things, even when the reality didn't match. Perhaps he allowed his mother's situation to overcome his innate pride. However, he remained unchanged but with an increased sense of discontent. After exchanging a significant glance, his mother and he shifted their attention towards the beautiful floral arrangements and bouquets. The two of them, as a family, presented a sprig of rosemary and a single poppy to the unnecessarily boisterous judge of the contest. It was a symbolic catharsis for those that had gathered in memory of those that had served.
Guards had been pointing their fingers in his direction for a while now. Connor noticed this and meekly began planning his departure. His mother, being no fool, was wise to the situation and said to her son, "If you can't be good, be good at it." Hugged and kissed him on the cheek goodbye and bee-lined for the guards. Only one guard continued being suspicious of him despite the elderly lady's need for assistance. The guard spoke to the rogue making his exit, "Wait. Don't I know you?" Hearing these familiar words, as he had a hundred times before in similar situations, Connor walked away and avoided the misunderstanding. Connor had always relied on his ability to sense the shift from suspicion to distrust as his warning sign to evade the authorities and avoid getting caught. This was the only signal he needed to stay safe in his line of work. A jaded Connor walked disinterestedly through the crowds of magical knights and civilians celebrating, lost in the inconsistent reverie of thought ever apparent after reading those words in the archives. Connor always questioned when the infernal pits of hell would open up and swallow him, an ordinary citizen.
Word Count: 759
Exit.
