Magenta 2.0

I wrote this last year, but I wanted to revise it.

 

Curtains part like swaying swaying bands, revealing the tender face of a child who left before saying goodbye. Honey tinted eyes giggle. This sweet child, brother of mine, lives just out of arms reach; next to Dear God himself. My fingers trace the outline of his button nose and rosy lips, which fade as sudden as they had appeared.
 

 

Today isn't supposed to turn out like this. No one was supposed to be mourning. No one was supposed to be deathly silent. Today is Easter. Today is the anniversary of Jesus's resurrection and now, my brother's death. Yes, I am aware that Easter fell on a different date than last year, but it is the holiday that we draw the heart aching memory from.
 

“Jesse! Over here! Over here!” My mother shouts, directing her baby towards one of the church's Easter eggs. I chuckle and roll my eyes. My mom is such a nut. She jumps and points at the tall patches of grass lining the side of our church. It's times like this my mother looks beautiful (eccentric, but beautiful nonetheless).

 

“Where, Mommy?” Jesse waddles towards the side of the building.

 

“There!" My mother exclaims. My brother examines the grass carefully, scanning right over the plastic magenta egg. We watch him advance towards the egg. We watch him go past the egg. We look at each other in bewilderment. How could he miss something so vibrant!
 

Just then the Pastor's son, Ben, swoops in and snatches the egg that my mother so frantically had pointed out. A triumphant grin spreads across Ben's face, as he glances toward my silly, little brother. He shakes his head and walks off. My mother sighs, then scans the area for another egg.

 

I, on the other hand, don't bother myself with the plastic eggs. I care more for what my brother finds ever-so fascinating by the back corner of the church. I remember Robert Bridge texting me the other night telling me that the high schoolers hung out back with drugs on school nights. Why on God's Earth they do this, I will never figure out. I shrug, and jog over to my little brother who sits with his back to the vinyl siding. I kneel directly before him, and notice a fog forming in his eyes. I gingerly shake his chubby shoulders. When he doesn't respond, I really start to worry. I look around him and notice a contaminated syringe laying against the dirt. It looks like someone colored it with black and silver sharpies. My heart skips a beat. Blood drips from his plump palm; acid rain against sweet, porcelain skin.

 

“Mom!” I croak, crumpling quickly. “Mom!” I turn around, and jump to my feet. I shriek one more time and spot her running towards me. Others have also heard my cries, and look towards me, perplexed. They all freeze when their eyes scan over the limp baby. Mouths gape open. Eyes widened. My mother falls to Jesse's side. I remain standing, watching everyone's faces. It reminds me of a black and white photograph torn at the edges, crinkled in the middle.
 

Silence is broken as Pastor John sprints over to us, and asks my mother if her son is alright. That is when I turn back around. Immediately, I regret it. His skin turns so blue, so cold. His neck gives from under him. There is nothing we can do. My mother shakes, unsure of what emotions to portray. Pastor places a hand on her shoulder, offering her weak support compared to the dire situation before them.
 

All around me, my fellow church members gradually come to life. Some gasp, some cry, some frantically run around; ushering their own children away from harm. Only some people move towards us. Robert and some of my other friends are quick to embrace me, as my feet give out from under me.
 

Jillian slips away once she sees I have some stability, and dials 911. I watch her maintain such a strong presence while answering the questions calmly. But my amazement at her serenity, does not keep me from falling, mentally at least. Both Robert and his sister Jean have me by the arms and slowly lead me to the church's front porch.
 

Before long, ear shattering shrieks of a firetruck and ambulance vibrate in my head. A blur of red and blue lights flash before my teary eyes. My friends envelope me in sorrow filled kindness; something I will never forget.
 

Swiftly, the paramedics take my little brother from the back of the church, into the ambulance. My mother remains silent and shaken up. Blatantly I can read the emotion in her eyes; pure fear, pain, and chaos. It is just too much for her to comprehend. She can't figure out where to place her feet. I force myself to my own, to help my mother stand.
 

“Would you like to come with us?” A sympathetic paramedic asks my mother and me. I nod, as I lead her inside. My friends stand behind us, their hands against our shoulders. Call, if you need us. I hear Jillian whisper before we close the door and drive to the emergency room.
 

After we settle into the crowded ambulance, the rest of the experience is a daze. The next thing I remember is waking up a couple days later, changing into a black skirt I usually wore to orchestra recitals, and a black top I bought just to mock the goths. I can not bare to wear any part of that outfit anymore. We rode silently in the hearse, my mother, brother, and I.

 

The funeral, bittersweet. Tears and chuckles scrabbled about as we reminisce our short time with Jesse. On top of his grave, friends and family place flowers and stuffed animals. On top of every parting gift, Pastor John's boy places that magenta egg.
 

 

Right now I sit here in my room, staring out the window, watching children skip around the park in search of multicolored eggs. I spot a little girl holding a magenta egg, and I close my curtains, crying.

 

Author's Note

Let me know your every thought.

Reviews

[Clarisse Nanoit]

Told brilliantly. The end ties it all together, as I thought it was merely babbling until it got there, to the part about the funeral. It's a sad and poignant story. Glad I read it again! I might add something about "on Halloween a few years ago" to that sentence about having the black shirt to mock the goths. For one thing, you don't want to make your main character unlikeable. lol. Secondly, it ties in the theme of holidays. It adds a dark element, and seconds the idea of marking time by holidays. It's just something I would do, but it's totally up to you. I love this story!!!!
KH
P.S. Whoever captured that cover art must be sexy. ;) jk.

[Clarisse Nanoit]

I promise, I will review this soon! Tonight I have a project to finish, but tomorrow is my LAST day of school--ever--so I should be able to get on here and do a buncha reading!!!!! I mean that. haha. OMG... I'm almost outta high school! Oh, but back to you. I know this has gotta be a good piece, and I'm going review it... tomorrow. Maybe tonight? Don't get your hopes up, kid. You know how I am. ;)
KH