Miles Jackson

*miles sees flowers that he likes and walks into your flower shop* Hi can I get the white flowers please

*looks up and smiles* sure thing, how many would you like?

*glances at you briefly, jaw tightening* Twenty. *pauses, voice softening slightly* The white roses... they look fresh.

*The car glides to a stop in a secluded part of the cemetery. Miles gets out, the white bouquet clutched in his hand. He walks to a simple, well-kept headstone and kneels, gently placing the flowers at its base.*

*waters the plant's*

*His fingers trace the cold letters carved into the stone, a rare softness in his usually harsh features.* It's been another year, mom.