White roses


“Abraham is dead.” Salima turned away from the window and the city that was now hers. “I gave him the Black Cummin infusion just as you instructed, and he approached me just like you predicted, then he died on top of me.” Abraham was Salima’s husband the King of the business empire that ran the upper crust and the seething underbelly of New John city. The man of this very house, with it’s cold interior all white fabric, metal and glass. It felt big and empty, cold and lonely, but then it hadn’t been a home since the boys left. Driven away by their father, too disgusted by their mother’s insistence on staying.

“Did you give it to him? Are you sure he saw it?” She felt a momentary twinge of disappointment at her husband’s betrayal, or maybe it was hurt that her Abraham had succumbed to such crudeness, but she quashed it quickly. It had been years since what was between them could have been classified as love. It had started off that way surely, when they were young and naive, before fame and wealth had broken them, using the instrument of his ego. And she, she would become the new monarch, not a consort, a trophy wife, but the head of the board of Rose enterprises.

“Yes Sal. He saw the white rose, and he knew in his final moments that it was from you. I would like to thank you Salima, for this start. It wasn’t even at all unpleasant to do what you asked, and I’ve learned so much.” Came Kimberly’s soft voice. The sweet country cousin that had been perfect for this play, with her chocolate skin and pretty smile, and soft exotic accent.”Champagne?”

“Yes dear.” Salima said, taking the crystal flute of sparkling liquid and settling in the settee close to the window. They sipped in silence, contemplating the future they had afforded themselves by ending poor Abe. But thoughts began to slip, her eyes were heavy, though not as heavy as her limbs. She couldn’t move, Salima could not speak, and from the fingers of her detached arm the flute fell, shattering on the hard wood floor, a million tiny pieces sounding distant. Then a white Rose was in her field of vision. A white rose, a symbol of peace, and what could be more peaceful than death.

“Sweet dreams cousin, so sad you will never wake. But I really am grateful, you bought me in a pawn, but underestimated my potential. I’m off to run your kingdom now.” Salima heard the retreating footsteps, and the gentle chime of the elevator as it arrived at her 4th floor apartment.

She sat and waited, and not 10 minutes later it happened. A plume of black smoke and white rose petals. The remains of Sweet Kimberly’s car. The would be queen, the novice usurper. The Pawn. Gone. And a smile touched Salima’s no longer frozen lips.

Thank you Mama, for teaching me the herb craft, your little bush girl daughter, barefooted in the Amazon, a peasant who would become the queen of New John City.


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