Young Writers Society

The green paint of the walls acts like a mirror. It bounces the light onto me, forbidding me to stay in the darkness. The white of the canopy bed is transparent and sparkles. The only thing in this room that is not pale in color or white is the black dress that hangs from wooden foot board. It does not sparkle in the sunlight nor does it shine transparent.

It does, however, hold the painful memories in the gray swirls that cover it. I can still smell the smoke everywhere I go. Every time I look at Sophia the fire flashes on the pale pink of the healing burn, that scars her cheek and arms.

I look at myself in the mirror that hangs on the opposite wall, across from my bed. My eyes are rimmed in ruby with spider webs on the whites. I couldn’t sleep; my dreams were too terrible. I know I was only in my house for a short period of time and didn’t see half of what Sophia saw; but I think that’s made it worse. In sleep my subconscious can imagine what happened because I am deprived of what actually took place.

I pull back my dark, strawberry hair, arranging it carefully the way my mother used to for special occasions. It spirals on the back of my head in ringlets held with bobby pins. My bangs are curls that frame my face.

I undress slowly, procrastinating. I pull the dress up, the black and gray of the fabric clinging gracefully on my body. I turn around as a knock sounds at the door.

“Ten minutes, Alyce,” Sophia says peeking in through the crack she’s made in the door. She is dressed in black also, her red hair flowing over her shoulders. Beaver pushes her nose into the door, pushing it back farther to come in.

“Okay,” I mumble and nod. I look away from her. I can feel my blue eyes swimming with tears; I rub my eyes to rid myself of them. My makeup smears; black trails from my eyes fall down. The door creaks closed and Sophia disappears.

I stand up and walk to the mirror. My fingers, wet with tears, scrub to erase the mascara and eyeliner. When I am done my eyes are red and my face is pale; the freckles on my cheeks sprinkled across my nose. I want to put more makeup on to fix the shadows around my eyes but I my hand doesn’t want to move. I am pure; there is no makeup for me to hide behind. I will not wear a mask today.

I slide my feet into the black flats that Sophia let me borrow and walk to the door. The tiny heels on my shoes clack on the hardwood. The back of the shoes slide up and down against my heel, the ridges pushing and pulling against the leathery inside.

“Alyce, you look beautiful,” Aunt Jessa breathes as I walk through the kitchen door. It’s still strange to see her instead of my mother. Sophia is sitting next to Uncle Collin at the table; a book is in front of Uncle Collin’s face as usual. I cringe as his spoon scrapes the side of his cereal bowl. “Do you want something to eat, sweetie?” she asks me.

I shake my head, hoping my stomach doesn’t growl too loudly. I turn around and push Beaver out of my way. I need some air; the aspect of a family right now doesn’t sit well.

When I step outside, into the wind, my dress dances around me. The leaves swirl, brushing my arms and legs when they fly back to the ground. I brush them away when they lodge themselves into my hair. The pins are starting to slip, but the rings just fall around my face like tongues of fire. The sun bounces through the trees hitting the leaves, then ping-ponging through the woods. The birds are quiet today, maybe they know something bad’s going to happen or maybe they are just cold. My fingers are turning red with cold and my nose runs. But I don’t pay attention; I walk the perimeter of the woods that surround Sophia’s house. It reminds me so much of my house I want to scream, but I need to remember.

On the other side of the hollow is my house. It is miles away by car but far less by foot because you can go down into the valley like patch of forest and back up instead of going around. I think about climbing down into to hollow, but know that there will be time to do that, now is not the time.

I should at least pay my respects to my mother; she did care, even if her disease told her otherwise. She loved me before the symptoms arose. We were happy, even when Dad was still home, we where a family. Not like Aunt Jessa and Uncle Collin but we were us. I shake off the thoughts. I don’t want to think about what happened to Dad or about Mom comparing herself to her younger sister and her family.

I study the leaves. As they fall images of the other night with Sophia come back to me. I remember what she said as I looked at the falling stars above our head. I wonder if Mom’s a star now, forever living above us. Maybe that’s Heaven, or what we can see of it. The sky is where we go after we die. It would make sense, if you believed in that kind of thing. The times I’ve been to church are few, but now I want to believe that after everything Mom when through on Earth she is a better place, like in the stars, watching over me.

A leaf cracks, I swivel around and come to a stop in front of Sophia. Beaver follows her almost on her heels.

“I followed you,” Sophia says, I didn’t even have to ask. Beaver leaves her purring as she nuzzles my bare legs, her warmth sending goose bumps up my cold leg. I don’t say anything to her.

“Is she in the sky?” I ask. The vagueness of the question takes Sophia by surprise and she looks at me confused.

“Who, Aunt Suzie?” She wonders, unsure that I’m talking about Mom. I nod hoping she’ll make the connection to the conversation we had two days ago. “You mean is she in Heaven? Yes, probably.” She doesn’t sound positive when she says probably, an unsure answer anyway.

“Is she in the stars; is she a star?” I say specifying my question. I look at the leaves and then at the cat who is pouncing on a small pile near the base of a tree to the right of Sophia. I don’t look at her.

“I don’t know,” Sophia says she is afraid she is going to hurt me. I can tell by her voice it is soft and calm. But no one can hurt me, not anymore.

“Forget it, just go back.” I tell her. She shakes her head, but doesn’t argue. The cat doesn’t follow as she walks through the thin line of trees that separate us from the front yard.

Your mother is waiting for you; you are no different. It seems like the wind is whispering in my ear. The voice sounds familiar, but I don’t know who it is. My hair flies around my head and a shiver crawls from the base of my spine upward. I pull my arms around myself and try to shake it off. It’s just the cold, I tell myself as I set off to the house. Beaver runs ahead leaving me to myself. I watch as she sprints on her four little legs to the house and hops up the steps while I follow suit. She sits at the door until I’m there to open it, meowing and complaining because I wasn’t fast enough for her. I laugh at her and try to get rid of the feeling of dread that has wrapped around me like an icy blanket.