Transcendence

I sat at the window sill, trying to ignore the throbbing headache that consumed the front of my head. I hugged my legs against my stomach, hoping that the pain would just go away. I could have sworn I heard a voice coming from behind the other side of the window, calling me to let in the freezing rain. At least I would escape this headache if I froze to death.

"Emily," there was a light knock at my mother's bedroom door. I immediately recognized my sister's voice behind the wooden door. She probably wanted another crying session. I was in no mood to shed anymore tears. For the thousandth time that day, I cursed my older sister’s weakness.

"Come in Cat," I sighed, not moving an inch. Slowly, the door opened to reveal the slight figure of my malnourished sister in her "mourning" dress and her Northface jacket. Her soft brown eyes were already damp with fresh tears. She looked horrible, even though her messy hair hid most of the damage the waterfall of tears had wrecked on her beautifully tan face.

"I'm sorry, I just," Catharine paused, biting her lip, "I knew you wanted some privacy." I gave her a weak smile in return. I had to be strong, if not for my own sake, for my vulnerable sister's. Her eyes wandered around the well furnished room. Our mother had expensive tastes in furniture, including a king size mahogany wood bed and an antique dresser that probably cost the same as her two Mercedes put together. I cringed. My Mercedes, I corrected bitterly. "Can I ask why you decided to hide in this room?"

"It comforts me," I responded slowly, trying to convince myself of the insane thoughts that rattled my brain, "to know that only a few hours ago she was here." Nodding, Catharine bounded next to me, hot tears streaming down her eyes. I took her carefully in my arms, as her tears pelted my black sweater.

"I'm sorry Emily!" she coughed, chocking on her tears, "I promised I would leave you alone."

"Its alright," I whispered, gently brushing her hair gentle brown hair with my finger tips. I wanted to be alone, but I knew I was needed. Catharine was taking our mother's death much worse than I did. I think it was harder on her because she was much closer to mother. I was always the problem child that wrecked our family while Catharine was the choir girl who could do no wrong. For twenty- two years I had celebrated that, but now it seemed like the tables had turned. I suddenly had to play mother.

"What are you thinking?" Catharine’s pathetic voice brought me back to reality.

"Thinking about her," I lied, "it is going to be weird not having her around."

"Yeah," she gulped, burying her head into my shoulder. I stared out the window, listening to the wind howl against the pane, silently wishing I was out there instead of confined to this miserable hell.

I sighed in disgust and looked around the room that had once been my mothers. Spacious did not begin to describe the size of the room. I had been in lecture halls in college smaller than my mother's "humble" living quarters. The gold colored walls were decorated with a dozen paintings. Knowing mother, all of them were originals. Of course, there was no pictures of her three daughters in the room. I noticed that immediately when I walked into the room.

"It is hard to believe she is gone," Catharine breathed, her voice a horse whisper. Not really I thought to myself. She pulled away from me, whiping her eyes carefully with the sleeves of her jacket. Slowly, she crossed over to our mother's bed, where she plopped down from complete fatigue.

"Where did Mary go?" I asked curiously, hoping that I could take Catharine's mind off our mother.

"She went out to grab some Chinese," Catharine mumbled. "She will be back shortly." Catharine yawned and stretched out across the gigantic bed.

"Why don't you get some sleep," I offered, turning my attention back to the window. I was horrified to see my reflection in the window glaring back at me like a ghost with hard brown eyes. My face had always been pale, almost ghastly white. My raven black hair was naturally straight, almost to the point of boring. Silently, I traced my gaunt face with my hand, shivering as my cool hand brushed my face.

(this is only part one of chapter one.)