The fall from the flower

Magnolia Williams had always seen herself as a rather average girl; her hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders in a perfectly respectable way and her eyes were a modest blue; overall, she aspired to be someone living the dream in an acceptable, normal, and perfect way. Aspiring to this goal is what made up all of her life; a goal woven into her soul. A tangible object, something she could reach out, touch, and hold close to her heart. To her, this meant being beautiful. After all, who was she to compare herself to the other, lower beings that surrounded her? She was always judging them, to see if they were appropriate for her goal. She was the kind of person who was naive and wanted to be naive, for fear of popping that perfect bubble she lived in. Because of this, she never really had any friends, and she didn’t mind. The danger in having friends was that one day if they knew each other well enough they would pour all of their problems on her, which was not ideal for her delicate nature. Her life was running very smoothly so far; she lived in an upper middle class neighbourhood with an average mother and father, average habits, and a few “problems” peppered about to spice things up a bit. She skipped through life with mundane regularity and clear cut goals, shining smiles and polite laughs. She was held in the highest regard by all of her teachers; it is in fact very hard to find a problem in someone who strives to be perfect. It wouldn’t be as simple as a bit of hardship and a lot of catharsis and tears and red eyes. It would take more to make Magnolia admit her way of thinking and her faults. Much more to break her. Much more.

The days passed as they always had. Magnolia glided through life, lucky as she was. Nothing ever went wrong, and she didn’t care to admit if it did. Her face in the mirror was as vibrant as ever. After all, this story being the type it is, nothing interesting came up for a while. There was nothing here to be described; the regular slog of school I’m sure you can all imagine. A regularity that was petering out, no matter how long she wanted to hold on to it for. 

Her sister had been acting up recently. She had been completely acting out of character - a character that had likely been drilled into her by Magnolia’s ways, which had been difficult to conceal at the start. She wasn’t troubled by that, however, as no one living the dream would be troubled by such things. For us, though, this is important, as it soon will be to Magnolia. See, she had been spending more time with her friends, who had been “influencing her in bad ways” - ie. opening her eyes to the wider world. You see, Magnolia’s sister also had dreams, though not as lofty as her sister’s. She wanted to travel the world, an idea frequently and eloquently shot down by her sister, who, in simpler words, didn’t think that other cultures’ versions of her dream were suitable to be engaging with. The sister’s tactics had grown more and more desperate, spending long nights researching flights and tourism magazines, longing for far away countries and foreign people. She worked away from her family’s view, long night shifts spent saving and dreaming. The problem stopping her was not money, it was power. A difference which the very perceiving of made real. This was not with the providers of the house but with the real head of the house. Her sister. As emotions tend to do when hidden, they only grew. Her friends pushed her further and further. At first they were good for her, but soon they just became another source of torment as she became a source of entertainment, as she was just a puppet in everyone else’s play. Others thought of her as weak-willed, so she became weak-willed. Magnolia’s sister was someone moulded by others.

It was a cloudy autumn evening and rain lashed against the windows, hammering a steady rhythm into the father’s head. It seemed that it would be the monotony that broke him, the monotony that Magnolia so loved. Everyone in this house seemed to be hurting but her. A prime example stared out of the window here: the father. His thoughts were turning sour faster and faster these days, and the cogs of his mind were turning slower and slower. He would often just run on emotions, his gruff voice low, leading him into even deeper depths. Age was something that came to all, and just because he was feeling the effects earlier than most didn’t mean he was going to live in wretchedness for the rest of his days. He also was getting easier to manipulate, which is not a good idea in this sort of enviroment. Knowing our main character, they took advantage of it. And so, the family grew worse, and Magnolia’s ambition went on to higher heights; you can guess who was next.

Magnolia’s mother was a callous woman, with a disposition to be close to the ground because of her peculiarly short legs. The curious thing about her was that she still managed to look down on others, despite her small stature. In a way, her dreams tended to align with Magnolia’s. She was one of those gossiping, malicious but smiling people that were a scourge on their neighbourhood with no real power, only the need for polite behaviour and poise protecting them. She, as you’ve probably guessed by now, was also in a declining state. One day, the neighbours had had enough. They gave her a week; anything bad she did in that week would be reported to the police. And report they did. The result: a stressed mother working to pay off numerous legal fees, hide this from her family and keep her head above water. What did this grant Magnolia? We all know this is a story about her, and would never be focused on someone else before leading back to her selfish desires. It’s simple: Magnolia had a means of blackmailing her own mother. 

Who’s next?  

On a clear April morning, Magnolia walked to school. Nothing was different today, as it never was. She didn’t want her life to be a rollercoaster; though it had cost her those elating heights, she was able to cruise through life with peace. School aided in this with its mandated timetables and set curriculum. That’s why, when she entered and sat down in the assembly hall, she didn’t expect anything new. The first few signs were showing, yes, but the thin but powerful film of her bubble warped the grim expressions of the teachers into neutral stares. If they were not going to go along with her way of life, she would simply ignore them. The headteacher began to speak, voice deep and carrying a hint of worry and perhaps guilt. 

“I have some tragic news for you today.” Even Magnolia couldn’t ignore his words. “One of our students here has died. I don’t want to be blunt, but it was voluntary. The suicide note is confidential currently.” The silence was palpable; the air a vacuum pulling at Magnolia. “I’m so sorry for your loss, and our school’s loss of this amazing, bright student who had so much more to do. A moment of silence please for Margeret Williams.”

Magnolia was torn. There was a rift in her world; one she couldn’t mend. Not having a sibling ruined her dream; she would have to talk about it with her parents, and pretend. Yes, you’re right: Magnolia didn’t care about her sister, or anyone else but her for that matter, except for what they meant for her living dream. The halls were her domain, but whispers were out of control. Magnolia almost choked. Who knows how long it would take her to steady the situation? 

She still thought it was salvageable, which was funny. 

On her way home she squeezed tears out her eyes, ready to put on her act.

“I can’t believe it. Is she really- really gone?”

“Yes. I- I just couldn’t tell you myself.” Her father let out a sob. 

“Can I see what she said before she- she- she-”

“Yes. Just know that…I understand.” He passed over a crumpled, torn piece of paper. Her sister’s handwriting was rushed and messy, but decipherable. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t kill anyone but myself. She’s so infuriating…so perfect…a reminder of what I don't have. I’m done being an actor in her play. I hate you, Magnolia.” Her heart gave out a delayed thump in her chest. What had she done? What had she wrong to be cursed with such misfortune? Her father’s face drooped into a frown as he saw her eyes leave the page. Icy and distant. “I think she needed therapy.” He said in a strange detached voice. “Do you think I could have saved her, paid more attention?” Magnolia gulped. What did this mean for her dream? She could feel her world crumbling beneath her, the yawning abyss reaching for her. 

“Do you think you’re the problem?”

Magnolia panicked. Her breaths came hard and fast and constricting. She couldn’t do anything rash, she couldn’t, she couldn’t. The TV was blaring in the corner. The news. All she could see there were sights of misery. Her father knew she hated the news. He knew that she couldn’t bear to be on the news. She couldn’t bear to hear the reporter talk about her life, her sister, and what could be happening on the inside. Her vision blurred. Her soul reared its ugly head, emotions took over. She was a girl consumed by ambition and determination, and nothing else. Her life was centred on this goal, all her disdain and hate and love and joy coming from what helped and hindered it. She was falling, falling from the plan that had brought her so far. If she was to scrap this life, who would be willing to take her in? Would the gossip follow her everywhere? Her life was falling to pieces, disintegrating to fine sand, the pieces of which were slipping through her fingers. The night grasped at her, her dream became a nightmare. Her nightmare was a horror story, The claustrophobic space of her own mind. Her carefully laid out walls were collapsing, and it was all falling apart. Her inner turmoil was beginning to show. First, her finger twitched. Her smile faded. And then she looked just as wild and insane as she was.

This is where the story either goes horrendously wrong, even worse than it could, or some twist is revealed. However, there is no space for twists in the neat straight line of the law. Her father saw the contempt in her eyes, the tenseness in her muscles and called the police. 

This is where the story ends, where the climax, or anticlimax in our case, falls into the resolution. Where we fall into the normal, where our muscles relax and the big bad is a distant shadow on a bright road. Magnolia’s fall from grace was nothing but something past, the incident a blemish on what would be a normal life. We don’t tell stories about normal lives, and we don’t drag out anything longer than it should be without reason. You probably guessed it. Magnolia is still making trouble with her deranged ambition, something born of nothing. Her life is like the white petals of the flower she was named after, too easily marred, too quick to anger. Therapy attempts ended in exorbitant amounts of broken furniture. Charities reached out, online chat rooms were opened, lies were told. It seems that years have passed, and each new identity, feebly grasping at that dream, was ripped away and exposed to the cold wind of reality. So. We’re finally here. The catharsis moment, the bit where everything catches up to her. She turns her face to the wind, hair flapping behind her. She grins. The landscape around is empty and desolate, a dry cracked desert and rough concrete station. A corner shop in the middle of nowhere. She imagines a normal, happy family by her side, a kid holding her hand and smiling up at her. There are no tears. Her thoughts are calming, her ambition, for the first time in her life, less important than the current moment. A small, half-silent laugh escapes her, like the stereotypical psycho’s signature. The wind whips up into a frenzy as a car passes by on the motorway. Another, and another. Magnolia walked out onto the road, and her life was swept away with the wind, and the gore splattered on the white truck. The cars passed by no more. Magnolia lived no more. The last thing that could be important to this story, the last thing important to her, was a single bubble, floating by. The soap surface shimmered, and split into a thousand pieces.