001 !! WILDFLOWERS

Wilted wildflowers cling for their life by the shriveled stems, their petals browning ever so slightly at the tips the soft uncaring scent wafting off them a sign of the reason for their neglect.

The roses sit by watching in beautiful bloom, their leaves shining under the morning dew the soil under their feet damp with the early morning watering they were made to privy to unlike the sloppy wildflowers shuddering in their bed of division created decades ago by an experienced gardener from up north.

The fiery red of the roses mock the sad white flowers rustling in their little shadowed corner away from prying eyes.

Everyone wants a piece of the rose yet they all despise the soft wildflowers holding on for dear life.

There are the neglected and the neglectors.

Sometimes, you can be both. Oftentimes, you're one or the other and that kind of fucks you up in every way possible.

The poison spreads latching onto the smallest of the remnants of your sanity and touches you in the ghastliest of ways aching even the tiniest of the darkened corners of your heart.

It seeps into the crevices until you're one with the devil and that is when all havoc wreaks free.

The girl with the shaded brown hair and hawk like golden brown eyes stands staring at the monstrosity that is the wildflower garden.

Her gaze shifts taking in the state of the thorny roses, eyes narrowing as she notes the obvious abandonment of the inferior of the flora.

A small exhale escapes her mouth, her lips pursing whilst she bends down careful to keep her dark coloured skirt tucked between her thighs.

Her head tilts to the side considering the wildflowers.

"Madam, do you need anything?".

Startled, she peers back finding the family gardener — Fletcher Mckinney, youngest of the Mckinney family that has been employed in the Du Pont household since ages, a twenty-something man who usually operates on the beckoning of her mother — sheepishly looking at her, his hands twiddling with the rag clutched between his fingers.

She sucks in a breath, pointing a commanding finger at the dying flowers.

"Those need to be tended to. Why haven't you been paying as much attention to them?".

He glances at the solemn flowers in surprise, "Mr. Du Pont asked me to pay special attention to the roses, I may have gotten a little carried away . . . ."

She's quick to get back on her feet, her tongue clicking against the back of her teeth as she tuts.

"Well, now I'm asking you to look after the wildflowers. That's your job, Fletcher".

He blinks, swallowing as he nods.

"Yes, Madam".

"Good. Thank you", she smooths the creases on her skirt and steps back, turning on her heel and walking away, the soles of her boots tapping against the driveway concrete when she rounds the house and meanders over to the front gate.

The house directly opposite to the Du Pont mansion, diagonally facing their front gate catches her attention.

A head of dirty blonde hair slicked back with perfect precision hovers around the house, the stiff polo fitting his body in the most obnoxious way as his muscular calves remain on show under the pair of board shorts adoring his lower half.

She watches his back muscles flex as he runs a hand through his hair, as if sensing her gaze his head turns immediately catching her glaring eyes fixed on him.

His lips curl in an attempt to conceal the smirk forming on his face and he raises a hand up in a wave, nodding to acknowledge her.

She narrows her eyes throwing her right hand up, all fingers tightened into a fist, all but one poking out from the middle clearly directed towards him.

She plasters on a smile the moment his gaze turns into an annoyed squint.

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes and turning away from her to inspect the flurry of workmen crowding his front porch.

Satisfied, Ember unlocks the gate and steps out making sure to heighten the sound of her boots tapping against the pavement as she walks away.

She's always been one for attention. Maybe it has something to do with being the favourite child, maybe it's because without attention she would be left to wallow in her thoughts and actually acknowledge the maniacal aspects of her mind that she fights to keep from bubbling over the surface.

Every day is a constant back and forth of keeping herself together.

Poker face, baby — her mother, Diane Du Pont, whispers every time things start to get too real and her youngest offspring begins losing her well crafted composure.

Be it a simple tear accommodating itself under her eyelid, be it her clenched jaw ready to spew insults when struck hard — Diane Du Pont discourages every show of emotion. She's had practice for about fifty years now, after all. And her daughter has a long way to learn that you don't just acquire the kind of affluence they have by wearing your emotions on your sleeve, by parading your pain for all to see.

Her phone dings with a notification, pastel coloured nails flexing as she retrieves it out of the sling bag hanging by her shoulder.

SARAH : party at boneyard tonight!!!

Ember presses her lips together, considering the offer.

EMBER : isn't it a pogue thing though?

SARAH : honestly do we care? it's free booze and music, the entire island will be there.

Another night to forget about how poorly life's going despite being surrounded with free hundred dollar bills and the Du Ponts' very own infamous margaritas?

EMBER : count me in.

Exhaling, she places her phone back inside and continues walking, the heels of her boots despicably clicking against the concreted pavement.

She walks down the sidewalk towards the much crowded marketplace. The area buzzes with a crowd, Tourons and vendors alike skittering about talking animatedly in the air sound about the place, their boisterous laughs and inquisitive accents filling the atmosphere.

The activity here has increased to a disastrous level now that the Summer Market Fair is just around the corner.

The Summer Market is always a place to be if you're looking for a good time in Outer Banks during the stifflingly humid month of July.

Tourists throng to the island during this time of the year and in spite of the sudden rise in business, the people of Outer Banks do despise that kind of commotion every once in a while.

But traditions make up about seventy percent of their life cycle, which is why everyone plasters a smile on their face — doesn't matter if it's fake — and walks out of their house, pretending to have a good time all the time.

Paradise on Earth, some shit you are.

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hope this wasn't as boring as i think it is, i swear it gets better 😭🙏