ONE
It had never rained like this before. As I stared out the window, I was starting to wonder if Mother Nature was mourning the death of my sister. It was sunny and warm only days earlier. And now, ever since Monday, it was dark and wet outside. If only Corrie would cry like that. She hadn't cried since it happened. I was starting to worry about her, actually.
I turned my gaze to Corrie; her pale body sitting awkwardly on my floral armchair. She was staring at space with wide eyes, and didn't seem to notice the rain outside. We were sitting in silence, and I did not like it.
"Corrie," I began, breaking the silence. "You haven't touched your tea."
I nodded to the white china mug that rested on the lace cloth cover on the coffee table. I could smell its pleasing chamomile aroma from where I sat, on the sofa. She was letting it go cold. The rain outside continued to pour like bucket-loads of water being tipped on my rose garden. Corrie contained her vacant face, staring at nothing and hardly blinking.
"I made the tea for you, Corrie." I said, trying desperately to get a response from that girl.
I failed.
"Corrie, please, talk to me.
"I know you're upset.
"And you shouldn't bottle things up
"Is it the funeral you're thinking about?
"I bought you a nice black dress for that.
"And a hat, too.
"And nice little black shoes.
"You're going to be really beautiful."
That got a response. Two big blue sapphires looked over at me. Her face was still impassive, but I ignored that. Corrie was about to speak.
But she held back. Turning her head, she looked away. It was as if eye contact brought her such a great pain. Oh how I wished she would share that pain with someone else, with anyone. She's barely said a word since her mother was found dead. Somehow, deep inside, I knew I was the only one who could possibly talk a word out of this distressed teenager. After all, her mother and I bore a resemblance in our faces. Perhaps Corrie might feel more relaxed around me.
"Corrie, look at me." I begged.
She kept her head turned away. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
"I'm only trying to help."
At that, Corrie stood up. She turned to face me, and looked at my face. Not my eyes, but my face nevertheless. Her mother and I had similar noses anyway. I could tell she was choking back tears. But she fought to murmur the first words she'd spoken in two days.
"I don't like tea." She said, before leaving the room.
I sighed heavily. The noise of jeans rubbing together echoed through the hallway which indicated that Corrie was moving at quite a pace. I stood up and brushed down my long cream skirt before picking up Corrie's tea mug and taking it out into the kitchen.
When I walked past the guest room where Corrie was staying, I noticed her door was ajar. Out of pure concern, I peered through the rather large space in the doorway. Corrie was sitting on the neatly made double bed with a blue notebook or diary balancing on her knees. She was writing in it frantically, and no sign of any unhappiness polluted her beautiful eyes.
It leaves doubt, which keeps the reader reading.
