Mourning Margaret


She wore all black and the smell of cigarettes and cheap liquor filled the air as she walked. The subtle scent of her father’s misogynistic and patriarchal ways filed behind her with every step she took. She was quite like her mother, with strong features, yet they all coincided to achieve a soft form of what had been called beauty. Her urban hair conformed well with her vermillion shaded lips, the same way guilt carried itself on her father’s back. Although she was much like her mother, her father’s traits were swiftly devouring her insides as she sat to commemorate her mother’s funeral. Her father’s innocence pleaded as the ceremony began, but his permanently convicted masculinity lay victimised in that casket.
She lived a wealthy childhood, a mansion filled with paintings of wealthy past family members. Her father believed that because he upholds the title of being a male, he was obligated to control the household, as though everyone was merely a performer and he was the narrator of this captivating theoretical production. However, they were not solely acting, he acted in such aggravation, so he could not have narrated everything. He changed when Lola turned sixteen and that is when both she and her mother noticed his extended hours at work and money rose to immense importance. At eighteen her rose-tinted glasses shattered and now at twenty-one, she took a stand and comforted her mother. It was exactly four weeks before her mother’s death. The mystery of how she died still ought to be solved.
The ceremony was over, and the burial now departed.
Lola ordered an autopsy which did not coincide with her father’s wishes. It came back an hour before the funeral, stating she was poisoned, with a drug fatal within the span of six hours. The only people in her presence were Lola, the maid and her father. Her father had been talking to her mother about his future which she had overheard in the span of those six hours. They spoke of Lola’s life at college and how the family home would soon need to be sold. He was stubborn and would not allow for any rebuttal as he was wary of going off-script. However, this time Lola’s mother found the confidence to speak up.
“No Margaret, how absurd was that idea you just proposed?”
“I thought it was a much more sensible input than your proposition.”
“No!” he yelled and walked away from his wife.
It was late in the evening when Lola made her way to her room. The following morning Lola woke and found her mother dead in the kitchen.
Although the mystery of the death was evident, Lola felt a sense of guilt. She was at home when the murder took place, yet she was not in the presence of her parents. It could be perceived that she could have given her mother the drug. If only she knew sooner that she could no longer wear white.


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