#I’ve only watched Bates Motel through in order once | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madehq · 4 years

Photo

Digital Here to Stay

At 1AM on Friday, October 9th, I got a group text from a playwright friend: Broadway was once again pushing back its reopening date to June 1st, 2021.

I wish I could say it came as a surprise. Only a couple weeks earlier the Metropolitan Opera cancelled its 20/21 season, and anyone who’s remotely considered event logistics in the past 6-7 months could rattle off a hundred hurdles involved in reopening any kind of venue. That list grows exponentially when the venue houses a minimum of 500 people in a city where you’re lucky to get 6 inches let alone 6 feet. Rather than shocking the community, this announcement reiterated once again that the performing arts industry will be one of the last to return. So it’s time for organizations to ensure their digital solutions are going to service long-term needs, and seize underlying opportunities.

One Step at a Time

Performing arts’ biggest strength has been the live in live theater. It’s a double-edged sword: creating economic barriers and gatekeeping for many, but also generating a unique high for those that are able to experience it even on a small scale such as school recitals, or indie theater. At the beginning of the pandemic, artists at every level of the industry rapidly pivoted to produce content without its biggest strength.

Zoom became prevalent not just for teleconferencing, but for digital events and classes. One of the most common requests I’ve gotten in the past few months is “can we embed a Zoom link in our order confirmation?” (the answer is “yes”). But while artists explored radio dramas, wrote plays specifically for digital forums, held digital festivals, and tried to make do, the focus was always on what it would look like to return home. As often as I’ve been asked about embedding links in confirmation emails, many organizations have opted to hold off on radical changes because of the ever shifting landscape and the knowledge that the current state of affairs is temporary.

Last Friday’s announcement makes it clear that “temporary” is going to last a lot longer than we hoped. Even regions that are beginning to reopen for outdoor or distanced performances need to find a way to cater to patrons that cannot safely return to venues, and contend with the impending arrival of winter. This is no longer about creating a safety checklist, and measuring the width of seats. Top to bottom, organizations must consider digital viability in all programming for the next year. We can no longer say “hold, please” to infrastructure changes that will support the performing arts during the rest of this pandemic, particularly when it has the potential to increase accessibility across the board.

Plan Ahead

Distance makes planning even more important than when leadership was able to collaborate in person. In a normal year, every production season is planned to suit a wide variety of audiences, tastes, and artistic messages. Once shows are selected, resources are allocated and accounted for. A formal delay in the return to venues means these conversations now need to include digital logistics. Content curation must consider what pieces will work best when performers must be distanced or in completely different locations. Think carefully before slating a piece that requires physical intimacy or confrontation, consider smaller pieces over large ensemble productions.

No matter what content is selected, organizations should get in the habit of identifying opportunities for content creation. For many organizations, the Watch & Listen section was a repository for the passionate user, and good for SEO, but not a priority. Other organizations were only able to record content for archival purposes rather than public consumption. The early days of the pandemic quickly revealed this produced a gap between the potential of the digital space, and the available content. As we continue to oscillate between digital and physical spaces, and reach out to patrons who cannot safely attend performances, generating assets and high quality recordings will be a priority.

A 5-Star Hotel, not a Bates Motel

Digital content is a great way to continue to foster relationships with patrons while in-person interaction is limited or impossible, so organizations must ensure that the experience is a positive one. If you don’t have a natural home for videos already, start having conversations with hosting platforms to see which might be the right fit for you and your website. Consider whether you want to make the jump towards OTT platforms which allow users to access content on other devices rather than being tethered to a phone or computer. Whether you’re new, or a seasoned digital veteran, keep an eye on analytics to identify pain points in the digital path. Ensure that the journey through your content is a curated, and welcoming experience for patrons. Just as you would provide users with additional event information before expecting them to book, avoid abandoning users in a vast sea of videos with no context. Your event pages likely don’t bury the link to purchasing tickets, similarly your video landing pages should make it easy for users to choose what they want to watch and navigate to other recommended content.

Nice to E-Meet You

While it is tempting to stick with known, and familiar faces during uncertain times, the pandemic has also raised a fear that the performing arts will become even more exclusive. Organizations must take advantage of the opportunity to diversify and expand their network of collaborators and audience members. With no additional travel or housing costs, organizations can now reach and collaborate with people that would have been inaccessible before. Use this to your advantage - increase the diversity of the artists you work with and collaborate with organizations around the world that are succeeding in producing theater that represents their audience. Revel in the fact you can now compete for audiences that are outside a one hour drive of your venue. Expand your community and make your art more accessible to everyone so that when we are able to return, you’ll have an even wider community.

White Noise or Unique Contribution

The performing arts doesn’t have to beat Netflix at its own game, we need to stand apart. Before the pandemic every million dollar media company in entertainment was already entering the “streaming wars.” 10 years ago there was Netflix and YouTube, now there is a specialized streaming service for every channel and category of content clamoring for people’s cash and attention. It can be daunting for nonprofits to enter the ring without the massive production budgets available to cinema and television unless you remember what makes live art precious.

A live event is a unique blend of elements that can be recorded, but never be replicated. Even shows with extended runs will never have the same performance twice whether it’s a stubborn wig, a backstage prank, or the crash of thunder outside. Live art is real. There’s no CGI, no second take, it is all happening before your eyes. Hollywood spends millions of dollars every year trying to replicate reality by using extended takes and marketing multi-class actors doing their own stunts. I’ve binged more Netflix than I care to admit during the past 7 months, I’ve cried and cheered at my local AMC, but theater brings an audience together down to its pulse. And I get the same buzz of nerves before a digital performance that I did putting on my makeup in a utility closet turned green room, because live art done right is lightning in a bottle.

Nothing can be accomplished overnight. Everything I’ve mentioned is a long term commitment to the digital sphere, and there will be many trials before we reach tribulations. No matter how successful, none of this will replace live theater. It never could. Under the current timeline, Broadway will be shuttered for a total of 14 months, and smaller theaters are unlikely to lead a charge that Broadway won’t. An entire year, both creatively and financially, will be gone and many organizations with it. Broadway’s announcement sent only the most recent national wave of grief through the performing arts industry. Audiences are hurting over the loss of these shared experiences that made up their community. Hundreds of thousands of artists are yearning not just to perform, but to create and play without endangering ourselves. We miss creating with our friends and colleagues. We miss watching their performative joy, pain, and skill. But while we grieve, reality waits, and it is your responsibility to make sure that if you can survive, you do everything possible to thrive.

0 notes

batesmotel · 8 years

Text

Gene Harlow: Bates Motel Final Fan Fic

It was almost the following Christmas by the time Alex was released from prison. Two years. Two years for lying about his relationship with Rebecca. They couldn't pin anything else on him though - He was careful. He had always been careful. So they had had to make an example out of him - An elected official, "a pillar of the community" - That's what the judge had called him during the sentencing. "A pillar of the community committing perjury? I simply cannot be lenient under the circumstances. I'm recommending a full two year sentence with a chance to appeal after one year served." Rapists usually served less prison time.

He was out in a year, with the help of his father's old, shrewd lawyer. Alex felt no real yearning for freedom, not now She was gone, but his desire for vengeance grew stronger with every passing day. And so he nodded his head in contrition and promised to never do anything like this again and followed his corrupt, slimy lawyer's instructions down to the letter, and sure enough, the following December, he was out, back in polite society.

Day one of freedom was spent sitting in the dark in his old house, drinking the bottle of scotch he'd been saving for... Well, he didn't know what he'd been saving it for, but now seemed as good a time as any to drink it. He looked at the three items lined up on his coffee table, downing the last of his glass and pouring himself another.

His gun, the one he'd been retrieving when he was arrested was lying next to the ring, his mother's ring... Norma's ring. And now she was cold in the ground, and her ring was lying next to the gun he was going to end his life with. He sighed, taking another long drink, wincing at the burn in his throat. He'd missed it - He hadn't drank since he'd married her, but he welcomed the blurring tug of oblivion pulling at his senses now, as he cast his eyes over to the final object lying there, taunting him.

It was a gift. A Christmas gift from last year, beautifully wrapped in charming, classic wrapping paper, adorned with ribbons and bows. A shiny golden gift tag kept catching the light from passing cars outside, blinding him for a split second every time. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He didn't need to read it. He remembered it what it said.

"Alex. Merry Christmas! To many more together. All my love, Norma x"

It was a reasonably large box, quite heavy and he remembered her warning him not to shake it, with a wry smile on her face. "What is it?" He'd asked, cocking his head at the large box, as she placed it under the tree, only days before she was taken from him. "It's a box full of rocks." She'd answered, smiling over her shoulder at him, catching him hungrily watching her bending over.

"Perfect. Just what I've always wanted." He'd swallowed her pretty giggle, pulling her in for a kiss under the mistletoe she seemed to have covered their home in.

He was startled awake by that same giggle, echoing from his half dream, jerking awake, the contents of the box rattling from where it was balanced on his knees. It didn't matter what it was. Just that it was the last thing of hers. The last thing she'd ever give him. It really could be a box of rocks for all he cared.

But it could wait. He had things to do before could finish this. He set it carefully back on the table, before slumping back in his chair, letting unconsciousness take him.

He awoke with the birds, his head pounding, his mouth dry, his eyes landing on the gun first. Maybe he should just end it all now? His eyes flicked over to the ring. No. He'd been planning this all year. There was an order to this. There were things he needed to do first.

"Hello?" He croaked, after spending the morning on the phone to old buddies at old stations around Oregon, calling in favours from people who just didn't want to owe him anything anymore.

"Hello, Massett residence." Emma's voice bubbled through the phone line, giggling as if he'd just caught them in the middle of an inside joke.

He ended the call abruptly, staring at the phone for a long time, taking slow deep breaths through his pounding hangover. "Massett residence"? His heart constricted painfully at the thought of Norma not attending her oldest son's wedding. He waited for what felt like an eternity before dialling the number again, sighing with relief when Dylan picked up.

"Yeah?"

"Dylan?"

"Yeah. Who's this?" The gruff, familiar voice came through the line and Alex felt a strange swell in his chest.

"Romero."

There was a long pause.

"It's Alex." He said, not sure Dylan had heard him.

"Hi." Dylan said finally, puffing out a long breath. "What did he do now?" He said quietly, his tone reserved and Alex heard a door press shut quietly on the other end of the line, like he didn't want Emma to hear the conversation.

"He's..." Alex started, trying to keep the shake out of his voice, trying to figure out what to say. "It's your mother. She's..." He trailed off, unable to voice the words.

There was a long intake of breath and the sound of a chair creaking as Dylan sat himself heavily in it.

"He do it?" He murmured quietly.

Alex couldn't repress a quiet sob at Dylan's question.

"Yeah." He ground out through gritted teeth.

"Shit." Dylan was silent for a long time. "You get him?"

"No. I... I can't prove anything." He faltered as he admitted his own failings. He had failed to protect her and he had failed at bringing her killer to justice.

"Why are you calling me, Alex?" Dylan said suddenly. "What do you want me to do?" He sighed wearily, like he was tired of being pulled back into this mess, like he had finally felt free, at least for a little while.

"Nothing." Alex said honestly. "There's nothing to do. I just needed to let you know."

"Ok." There was a rustling sound as Dylan covered the mouth piece and Alex dutifully pretended he couldn't hear a few moments of muffled crying as Dylan broke down.

"That was all I wanted to tell you." Alex mumbled, his voice almost robotic. "I'm sorry, Dylan."

Dylan sniffled, and cleared his throat.

"Hey." Alex blurted out suddenly. "Did you and Emma get married?"

"What? No." He heard the confusion in Dylan's voice, and felt strangely comforted for a second.

"She'll want to go to the funeral. When is it?"

Alex stared at the ring glinting in the gloom of his darkened living room, focusing on it until it began to blur through his tears. He opened his mouth to speak, the words not coming out. He had planned to tell Dylan about Norma. That was all. This was too much.

"Er... I'll let you know." His voice breaking obviously before he slammed the phone down, finally breathing out the anguished sob he'd been holding in the entire call. He should have told Dylan the truth. But he couldn't. He couldn't manage it. It wouldn't matter. It would all be over soon anyway.

He tried to stand, his weak legs buckling under him. When was the last time he'd eaten? Or consumed anything that wasn't fifty year old scotch? Or slept anywhere but fitfully on this chair?

He wasn't ready for the big showdown. Not like this.

Day two of freedom had more of a sense of purpose around it. He stood, staring at himself in the mirror, not recognising himself. He'd aged a decade in the past year, the lines around his eyes deeper than before; the light sprinkling of grey in his hair that Norma used to tease him about was now threatening to take over. He ate, he showered, he dressed, going through the motions like he was going to work, not to kill his wife's son. And then himself. It felt strange, how entirely normal it felt.

The day dragged on into the afternoon, the sun beginning it's slow descent as the light shifted, and Alex looked up, realising he'd been staring at the gift she'd given him last Christmas for hours, not even seeing it. He stood, reaching past the gift, taking the ring and tucking it securely into his pocket, and then grabbing the gun, palming it's heavy weight, weighing up the implications of what he was about to do.

"She wouldn't want this." That voice piped up in his head, the voice that sometimes sounded like her. "She wouldn't want you to kill him."

He sighed. He knew that. He'd wrestled with that same thought for the whole year.

Maybe just one more drink? To calm the shake in his hands? He poured it, catching a movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't do this." Her voice rang out, clear and sharp and unmistakable. There was a rustle and her form stepped forwards from out of the shadows, the swishing of her skirt around her bringing back such fond memories.

"He's my son." She said, her voice breaking, her eyes burning a fierce midnight blue through the gloom of the curtained room. He could see the tears glistening on her face.

"This isn't... You're not real..." He stammered, as she took another step towards him, growing clearer with each step.

"Please, Alex..." She implored, and he squeezed his eyes shut not wanting to hear it.

He awoke with a start, his eyes immediately flying to the darkened corner where she had stood, finding no-one there. The gun was still in his hand, resting on his lap, where he was slumped, slumbering in his chair again. He sat up, making a decision, slowly placing the gun back on the table. He didn't believe in ghost or angels or heaven or any of that bullshit, but maybe she was his conscience, telling him not to do this. Maybe she was right? It wouldn't bring him any peace. There was no peace for him now.

He moved to stand up, the neatly wrapped gift catching his eye once more. It didn't matter what it was. But... his curiosity won out, and he leaned forwards, feeling his eyes prickle as he read over the tag one more time. He ran his fingers along the seams, pulling the paper away gently, tugging the ribbon open reverently, like he was undressing a woman, not opening a present.

It was a plain brown box and he frowned, pulling open the top to reveal a box of Styrofoam packing peanuts. He cocked his head, starting to dig through them, feeling the slightest tug of genuine excitement at whatever she had got him. He laughed out a harsh, surprised laugh when he reached the bottom, his hand closing around several large rocks, weighing the box down. She hadn't been joking. She really had got him a box of rocks. And now she could never explain to him why this had been funny to her at the time. He wanted to laugh, and then he wanted to cry - He'd been obsessing over this package for an entire year, consumed with finding out it's contents, and it had been some obscure joke he would never understand. He almost hated her in that moment.

His eyes fell on a post it note, stuck to the top of a large flat rock in the corner.

"Did I fool you?" Read her swirly, pretty handwriting and he grinned, happy to have another part of her with him now. She'd drawn a little smiley face next to it. And underneath that, "Turn me over..."

He dutifully lifted the rock from the corner of the box, turning it over in his hands and freezing, feeling his heart stop in his chest. His blood ran cold, the breath forced from his body in a short, sharp breath that hurt his lungs. There, taped to the underside of the rock was a pregnancy test, with another post-it note stuck to it. "Surprise!"

"Are you happy?" He could imagine her saying, her voice crystal clear and hesitantly excited, his brain forming the image of her sitting there, pretending to be unsure as he gazed at the little white stick in his hands.

He stood abruptly, the box and it's contents falling to the floor, throwing the rock down with it and reaching for his gun.

"Alex, wait." Her voice was ringing out again but he ignored her this time.

"This isn't what I want!" She sobbed.

"You're dead. I don't give a fuck what you want." He ground out, tucking the gun into his waistband and charging out of the house with a renewed determination.

Nothing prepared Alex for what he would find at the house. He swung his rental car into the parking lot, immediately seeing the unfamiliar car there, right next to Norma's old Mercedes. He immediately knew who it was.

"Dammit, Dylan." He muttered to himself, heaving his aching body and aching soul out of the car and sprinting up the steps.

He could hear the grunting and sounds of a scuffle as he quietly entered the house, allowing himself to listen for a moment.

"You never liked her anyway! Why do you care, Dylan?" Norman screamed and there was a roar and a clatter.

"She was our mother, Norman! How could you do that?!" Dylan yelled and Alex had heard enough, charging down the basement steps. It was dark, almost impossible to see, until he rounded the bottom of the steps, the basement dimly lit with dozens of tiny candles.

"Norman!" He yelled, and Norman turned, being released by Dylan as they both turned in shock to look at him. Norman's mouth closed, blinking slowly like he'd been expecting this all along.

"Hello Sheriff." He said politely, bowing his head at him. Alex glared, a rush of what to do now he was here flooding through him. He'd pictured this moment all year, but now it had arrived and he was unsure of what to say first.

"I'm glad you're here actually. Your wife wanted to see you." Norman said, so calmly that, for a split second, Alex didn't take in what he was saying. He gestured to the large dividing wall that had sprung up since the last time Alex had been here, cutting the room in half. There was a loud humming noise coming from it, and Alex took a deep breath, feeling his hands start to shake.

"What is..." He started, as Norman nodded his head, gesturing for Alex to follow him.

"Come. You too Dylan. She missed you." He said, his voice eerily calm.

Dylan exchanged a terrified glance with Alex, both of them taking a hesitant step forwards, towards the vast iron door in front of them. Alex's hand slid to his lower back, stealthily getting a grip on his weapon, making sure he was ready for whatever was behind the door.

Norman turned, smiling the whitest, sharpest smile they'd ever seen, before swinging the door open with a flourish and stepping back. For a moment, a burst of cold air and a swirl of freezing mist blinded them, before it cleared and they took in the ghastly sight before them.

Norma Bates, or some version of her was sitting in a golden chair, her skin pale and blue tinted, icicles hanging from her skin, her eyes, her hair. Her eyes, once the brightest shade of azure he'd ever seen were now lifeless and dead, glazed over with a film of icy pale blue. Around her were flowers and candles, chocolates and old records and stuffed birds surrounding her, like he was bringing a lover all of her favourite things, like he was building a shrine, with the ultimate doll in the centre of it all.

He heard Dylan gasp from next to him, grounding him and, on instinct, he shoved Dylan to the side suddenly, the split second before Norman brought the kitchen knife slicing down into Alex's body. Hot met cold as he felt the warm blood soaking down his back, contrasting with the frigid air from Norma's icy tomb meeting the front of his body.

He sank to his knees, keeping his eyes fixed on her, not able to drag his eyes away from her, even as he heard the sounds of fighting coming from behind him. It sounded far away and distant, his vision beginning to blur as the pain radiating through his shoulder and his back started to spread. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers experimentally. He was already beginning to lose feeling. Good.

A sudden smell of smoke filled his nostrils and he dragged his eyes away from the defiled corpse of the woman he loved to see Norman and Dylan fighting, Dylan landing blow after blow as Norman tried his best to fend off his older brother's fists. Smoke swirled around them, flames starting to lick upwards from a candle, upturned during the fray, a frayed velvet curtain catching fire suddenly. Flames roared along the fabric, lighting up the room in a sudden burst of orange, casting a golden glow over Norman and Dylan, suddenly frozen in place.

Norman took the opportunity to hit back, landing a blow on the side of Dylan's head that knocked him off his feet, and Norman scrambled, all three of them coughing as smoke filled their lungs, throwing himself on top of Dylan, closing his hands around his throat, pressing with all his might. Dylan choked, and spluttered for what little oxygen was left in the air, and Alex didn't hesitate, lunging, his body protesting at the movement, throwing his weight at Norman. They toppled off Dylan, who took a grateful lungful of acrid air, before sitting up with difficulty and pulling Norman back. The boy fell easily, his head knocking into the edge of the open freezer door, the clang echoing loudly before he fell limply onto the ground, unconscious.

"Alex! Alex, come on!" Dylan shouted over the roar of the flames, reaching through the smoke, for Alex's jacket, getting a hold on him. He pulled him to his feet, frowning when he resisted his grip.

"No..." He protested weakly, watching for a second as the velvet drapes fluttered down in torn ashen tatters, obscuring their view of her body for a second, still perfect and serene, even in the chaos of the basement. He reached for her, his numb, shaking hands faltering as Dylan pulled him back.

"We gotta go! We can't do anything for her. We..." He paused, to cough, struggling to breathe the thick, grey air. "We can't..." He trailed off, tugging Alex up with the last of his strength, dragging him towards the stairs, both of them casting one last look back before taking a step.

His eyes landed on her face, almost totally obscured through the smoke now, and he shoved Dylan forwards suddenly, pushing him up the steps.

"Go! Go! I'll be right behind. Call 911!" Dylan hesitated for a moment, before something flitted across his face, and Alex could tell he just thought of Emma, of getting back to her. He nodded stoically, running the last few steps and throwing the basement door open, fresh air flooding down for a moment, before the oxygen fed the flames and they grew impossibly higher.

He felt his skin start to burn, felt the lick of the flames around his feet as he turned, staggering through the haze, feeling for the body on the floor. There was a quiet groan, and Alex summoned every ounce of strength he had left in his fragile, broken body, ignoring the fresh wave of hot blood pouring down his back, ignoring the searing pain tearing through his chest. He pulled Norman up, grabbing at his wrist, dragging him to the steps and then flopping backwards, exhaustion taking hold.

No. He wasn't letting him die down here.

He coughed again, a horrible wracking cough, feeling for the banister, his vision useless now, clawing at Norman, his fingers managing to grip onto his sweater, heaving him up the stairs. He didn't know how he did it, how he managed to drag himself and the boy up the stairs. He had heard of mothers whose adrenaline made them able to lift cars of their trapped children. Norman wasn't his child. He hated him. More than anything, he wanted to leave him down there, to choke and burn and die, knowing he was paying for what he'd done.

But then he'd thought of Her. And he'd somehow made it to the top of the stairs, to where he could hear Dylan shouting and struggling from the doorway.

"They're there! They're they are!" He shouted, and Alex felt the weight of Norman being taken from him, and then strong hands were taking a hold of him too, and there were flashes of bright, reflective yellow uniforms as his eyes fluttered open and closed a few times.

And then finally he was outside and he took a grateful deep breath of cold air. It wasn't enough. He knew that now. He'd known it the second he'd turned around on those stairs, collapsing as soon as he was outisde, his weight slowly being lowered to the floor.

"You're going to be ok." A strong voice was saying, but he couldn't open his eyes to reply. He felt an oxygen mask being placed over his face. Pointless now.

He took one deep breath, feeling a sharp painful jolt from deep within his chest, feeling a splattering of blood cough out into the mask as he exhaled.

"Shit. What-"

He opened his eyes, for one last time, his hand weakly slipping into his pocket, feeling his heartrate slowing. His fingers brushed against the ring there, feeling the cool metal against his fingertips, the last thing he'd ever feel. Through the smoke and the blur, he could make out Dylan, wrapped in a silver blanket sitting a few feet away, staring helplessly at him, and he turned his head, glancing over at the stretcher being carefully carried down the steps. Norman's hand flopped over the side and for one horrifying second, Alex thought it had all been in vain. But then he saw Norman's fingers twitch, managed to make out the telltale rise and fall of his chest as he breathed through the oxygen mask.

Blood poured out of the corner of his mouth as he let his head fall, ignoring the paramedics and the firefighters bustling around him, uselessly trying to save him. He watched as the flames began to engulf the house, engulfing Norma Bates, her final resting place the home she had created here.

And there it was. The most selfless thing Alex had ever done. His final act of love for her, saving the son she loved - The man he hated. Because she would have wanted him to.

"I love you. I always will. Whether you're here or not." As the darkness pulled at him, feeling the icy grip of death finally taking hold, he thought of his final words to her. He had meant them.

He smiled, his world fading to nothing.

"Always..."

"You did the right thing, Dylan." Emma assured him gently, as they stared down at the gravestones, side by side, like they always should have been. Hers was empty, like it always had been, but they both pretended they didn't know that.

"If I hadn't left him down there...?" Dylan said, turning away for a second. They both knew it was about more than the night at the house. "Maybe if I hadn't left altogether? They might both be-"

"Shush..." She murmured softly, taking his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Has he- Has he talked anymore about... 'her'?"

He cut her off sharply.

"No. They keep him medicated now. He can't see her- Or whoever the fuck he was seeing before anymore. He won't be seeing her again." Dylan spat the words harshly, and Emma turned, nodding to herself, taking a deep breath. She crouched down, settling the bunch of fresh peonies and daisies between the two headstones.

"Bye Norma... Bye Alex." She sniffled to herself, rubbing her mittened hand under her eyes, before standing up again, and tugging his hand slightly. They turned, starting to walk away, before Dylan paused, stroking his fingertips over the cool granite.

"Goodbye Mom..."

117 notes · View notes