The Flower Girls

There were three of them: Delilah, Lily, and Rose. They were called the "Flower Girls." Delilah, strong, confident, white, hazel eyes, and straight, strawberry blonde hair. Lily, Delilah's right hand, rebellious spirit, Puerto Rican, brown eyes, and wavy brown hair. Lastly, Rose, vulnerable, the weak link, mixed, blue eyes, and curly, thick, black hair. It always seemed like Delilah and Lily protected Rose until it was too late. In the 1970s, they defied all the rules set by the town. It wasn't accepted to intermingle with other races. They disregarded society frames, and they were admired for it and hated for it. They seemed like the perfect trio until Rose ended up dead and the two primary suspects are Delilah and Lily.

October 29, 1975, Delilah

The roses were as red as blood last week, and now they're as black as night. I like to think the roses reflect my life. Last week was perfect, bright, happy, colorful, and now it's dark as night and I'm a murder suspect going in for questioning tomorrow. I live in the small town of Clearwater, Florida, where we are stuck in the past as much as the present. The people of this township refuse to move forward and accept that one race is not better than any other. That's when I, Delilah William, decided to be the first to break down the barriers of the town by befriending other races. The first was a girl named Lily, a Puerto Rican, who recently moved to Clearwater and clearly needed some friends. We clicked quickly, liking the same music that was considered "devil music" by the townspeople; having the same style of clothes that was considered "ungodly." In every way, we were a perfect match for each other. Then came Rose: she's like a little sister I never had. Being the only biracial girl in Clearwater made it hard for her to fit in. She's constantly stuck between being too white for the blacks and being too black for the whites. The adults aren't any better, either. If anything, they are worse than the youth. They regularly look at Rose in disdain and hatred. The worst one of the adults is her aunt; she lives with her aunt since her mom died and her dad is nonexistent. Instead of raising Rose with love her aunt looks at her with a burning hatred. That's why I always felt like Rose needed protection. When you don't have anywhere to fit into, one friend can make a difference. I thought Lily and I always did a pretty good job until she turned up dead.

October 30, 1975, Lily

Instead of mourning my best friend peacefully, I am in a police station, with a crowd of people outside. Delilah and I are prime suspects in a murder investigation for Rose. The thought of this is honestly laughable. We were the only people in this town that gave a damn about Rose, and now that she's dead everyone suddenly cares about her. People giving "heartfelt speeches" about her at the memorial for her at school, when no one in actual existence knew her but Delilah and me. They talked about her "favorite" hobby, which in according to them was swimming, and how she was oh-so good at it. She was good alright, but no one ever gave her credit. Swimming wasn't even her favorite hobby, anyone with half a mind could see it was writing. She was always writing in a leather bound journal and has filled up several of them, but like I said: no one knows Rose like Delilah and I.

If anyone should be a suspect of Rose's murder, it should be her aunt. If you thought your family will love you unconditionally no matter what you do, you are wrong. Rose's aunt hated her for the sheer fact of her dad's race, something Rose can't even help. In her aunt's eyes, Rose was everything she shouldn't be. It doesn't matter what Rose does, it's either wrong, or it could be better.
I was brought out of my thoughts when the door opened and out came Delilah all puffy eyed. I feel the hatred for this town swell up in me, because out of all my years of knowing Delilah, I've never seen her cry. She's always been the rock of our trio, and it took them just one day to reduce her to tears. Officer Holbrook looks at me in disgust, and I shoot him back a look of defiance as if I've been a truant all my life. He doesn't even call my name, he just gives me a nod of a head like I'm supposed to follow him, but I turn my head, ignoring him, and walk up to Delilah. I hug her and her strawberry blonde hair covers my shoulder as she sobs. I just shush her and comfort her as I shoot glares at Holbrook; he then clears his throat, and I look at him with annoyance and disbelief.