Poinsettias

The Whisper of the Poinsettia

    I stand before you in a gloomy graveyard on a cliff overlooking our town, Wisp'ur. 1984-2008 is printed on your obelisk before me. A webbed growth of vines mimicking ropes of entwined muscle overtake the name, but I know well what lies beneath: 'Shall you rest in Peace, Wei Willow.' Her resting place catches my tears until they stopped running, and I lay a bouquet of poinsettias at the base of the towering slab: her favorites. Everything is grey. The flowers, the marker of her grave and her slowly decaying, decrepit body, even my own self... all grey. Its funny, we won't be able to reach the stars, because when we attempt so, we get recalled to the soil. My thoughts encroach upon my temporary visit to my sister.

    She was taken from me by the PoW, or the Police of Wisp'ur, in a cruel thesis. She had a mutation that allowed her to experience a phenomenon known as 'emotion'. Wei was dragged into a PoW station, and questioned for the murder of our mother: the event leading to the disappearance of our father. She was drugged, beaten, and verbally abused until she broke down. When this occurred, the officer pulled out a blade, and ran it along each of her arms. These deep gashes poured blood at the gallons... until she stopped moving. She was tried, even after her death, for experiencing emotion and assaulting an officer.
   "I'm here, sis, because I may befall the same fate; I am an outlaw."

    A weighty thud sounds in the distance. My head nearly snaps to view the disturbance. "We're... being watched." My mind flooded of death. I am going to die here. Blast my legs, they won't move! The 'spider' has returned to its web to feast, it would seem. Concrete encases my legs; I shall break through! A barrage of my punches reach my leg, causing me to stumble. I have finally regained my movement, but for how long? I wasn't about to find out. Dirt is thrown up in my sparatic attempt to cast myself into motion. The ground came closer to my face, and struck me. Turning around reveals the cause to my fall: my leg is caught on something. Reaching to untangle myself causes me to recoil in shock.

    A hand thought to be expired clung to my ankle in a desperate attempt to be taken away from its home.
"Komm, susser tod! What in the unholy lord is that!" I knew what it was, and my stomach flipped and turned, almost spilling its contents. Tugging and tugging, I pull free, taking my sister's hand along.
"Join me... join me, Weston." The voice projected from my ankle. This isn't happening. This can't be! I must be tormented.
"Join me. Return to my place of slumber... I shall lead the way." Ignoring the pit she directs me toward, I dash as hard as I can. I throw all of my weight into each stride.

"Freeze, deviant!" a figure orders from behind the barrel of a firearm. The man operating the weapon was cloaked in the darkness only present in officers of PoW. He had a red, pointed flower buried in his cloak, one that shown clear effort in being hidden. Even with his yellow-tinted visor concealing his gaze, I could still tell it held a secret. How did this happen? I was running away from the sound! Perhaps the sound was used as a decoy... I turn my head to the right, and see a grave with upturned soil. I got turned around?! This isn't good.
"Dear little brother, It will all be over soon. You will be unraveled, you will return to nothing, such as I've done." I know, I will visit you soon. I promised I would, didn't I?
"You're coming with me, for the charge of defiance of the anti-vehemence act!" With a rending blow, I lose consciousness.

    "Wake up, you wretched waste of space!" Grey, true grey, fills my vision.
    "Finally opening your eyes?" prods a very proper looking man. He has an air of formal discipline, but his mannerisms are very contradictory. His glare pierces through my flimsy soul.
    "You seem to hold a certain kink in your DNA, am I wrong?" the man inquired. He waltzes past me and sends a fist into my shoulder, knocking me over. I'm tied to a chair? What is happening? Did I get caught?
    "Weston Willow: aged 24.
Born April 6th, 1984.
Weight: 167 pounds.
Height: 5'10".
Charged with the following: violating curfew, resisting arrest, assault of an officer, and experiencing emotion." My eyes gleam a look devoid of light. They cast forth stares to...
nothing in particular. He continued.
"Oh yeah... I've neglected to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Chevalier, I work with the Police of Wisp'ur... I was out visiting my lost daughter, and stumbled upon you. I will be your undoing, Willow." After reevaluating my record, he casts it to the side in a fit of manufactured rage.
"You couldn't just stay in line, could you?! You know emotion is the number one cause of death in the world? It accounts for 97% of them." The institution are contributing to most of those themself! Again, I am struck.
"I can read your thoughts, creature. Don't test me." He seems to calm down slightly.
"Your execution is scheduled in two hours. You will get one final meal, your memories will be extrapolated and archived, and you will have your final words recorded. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed in you." I fail to even stir from that sentiment; I expected such.
"What is the last thing you want to eat before you are cast into hell?" he inquires.
"...Starfruit."
"Starfruit? You know you can request more elegant dishes."
"Starfruit."
"Understandable. Think hard about the last mark you will hold on the world."
"Yes." The time speeds by with great haste; it was like I was made in Heaven, rushing death and destruction.

Cold metal clamps around my being. Blades press against my arms, and restraints hold me still with the exception of my jaw. This is my final hour.
"Hey, kid." Chevalier catches my attention.
"Please state your final words, and you will be undone." I ponder the request a moment, before coming to my conclusion.
"This is my ballad. I lay my life down to unleash emotions unstable. These feelings could very well be fabricated. In fact, maybe we all are. But, no matter the case, I will visit you once I'm unraveled, Wei."
"Very poignant..." He turns his head. His hand on the machine's lever is uneasy: it shakes and buckles as his grip tightens and tightens around the throttle.
"Very unexpected of you... I didn't want to have to be the one to do this... Goodbye." Before I was able to process what he said, the machine was thrown into action. My arms were slit, and I lay in my final minutes with my mind probed of memories. My vision fades out for the last time.

Two graves lie next to each other, both undisturbed. One has now withered flowers set across, entangled in a messy entrapment of muscle fibre, and the other is forgotten by most. They reside in a graveyard of misfits, one marked by an 8 petaled flower, or an 8 spoked wheel: it wasn't clear which it was. The shape is overlain with three circles, each growing larger around the shape's epicenter. The only writing accompanying it is 'Plutchik's Blunders'. They fell to the same fate, consumed by desire, as we all will soon fall victim to.

'Another outlaw falls. His identity is unknown, and his final words read as follows:'
"This is my ballad. I lay my life down."

-One Consumed by Dwelling on the Past