by Manda Benson
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, diodes to...whatever,” said Vladimir.
Verity finished putting the soil back, and smoothed down the surface with her palms. Vladimir put a slightly crumpled rhododendron flower down on the grave--white with a violet throat. Then they both rose and looked down on the grave. Verity turned to contemplate the statues.
“Farron said Blake hated Pilgrennon,” she said. “You think he lied to get a reaction from me?”
Vladimir shrugged. “He’s trained to get information out of people. He probably says whatever he thinks will get it.”
“I don’t think they hated each other.” Verity stared at the statues. They didn’t look like people who hated each other, but then they were only statues. “Perhaps they even loved each other.” Blake and Pilgrennon had been the first people to have had a Solar funeral. Was that merely because the Meritocracy felt the need to honor them in such a glorious way, or was it what they would have chosen? Would they have preferred their bodies interred in this warm red earth, in the place they loved, beneath the magnolia trees?
Was this the real Jananin Blake who scored her name into the history books in flames and slashes of Japanese steel, who left the old order trampled and broken in her wake, like the petals of spent magnolias, and forged the way ahead with her words and ideas? Verity watched her still, stone face, but she didn’t offer any answers. A drop of rain landed on the statue’s nose.
“Perhaps we should go and have a drink, or something, for Anthony.”
“I’m not sure he’d want to be remembered that way.” Vladimir exhaled and dropped his arms to his sides. His fingers touched Verity’s.
“How do you think he would like to be remembered then?” She glanced at him.
“Oh, it could be anyone’s guess.” Vladimir smiled ironically. “But I’d say he’d like people to enjoy the things he enjoyed in life.”
It started to rain harder as they ran hand-in-hand down to the edge of the rhododendron forest. Verity ducked inside the nearest bush. The smell of earth, leaves and rhododendron flowers was intoxicating. She grabbed the front of Vladimir’s shirt and ripped it open.
“Oh, look what you’ve done, again,” he exclaimed. Then he did the same back to her, and she laughed and pulled him close to her. Raindrops pattered on the canopy of leaves above. One of the leaves tipped under the weight of the rain, its waxy surface dislodging a heavy drop of water that landed on Verity’s throat, and slid down until Vladimir caught it on his tongue
.
About Manda Benson
http://www.lyricalpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=authors&authors_id=117
Manda Benson is an ex-research scientist who lives with a dog, an axolotl, a pink tarantula, and her two savage guard rabbits in a 100-year-old house that seems to exist in a constant cycle of repairs in the Midlands of England. Her other fiction includes a number of short stories plus two Galactic Legacy novels, Dark Tempest and In the Shadow of Lazarus; a YA SF novel, Pilgrennon’s Beacon; and two children’s books.
Manda‘s Website:
http://tangentrine.com/mandabenson
Reader eMail:
[email protected]
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