They Call it Memory.

I miss writing about these two. <3

 

Tragedy couldn't watch his sister anymore. Couldn't look at her, couldn't even talk to her.
Either way, he knew she wouldn't respond or say anything back. Her spirit had been broken, the smile permanently engraved into her face making it harder each day. It wasn't as if her strings had been cut, but more that she wouldn't do anything at all. She would just sit at the gleaming black piano of the abandoned theatre, staring at the keys and collecting dust.
Maybe her strings needed to be cut.
Tragedy couldn't handle her lethargic demeanor anymore. The others were having loose seams and rusty keys, and he couldn't help them all on his own. With his wooden feet scratching against the equally wooden floorboards of the stage that once held Creepshows filled with laughs and wonder, he made his way to the glossy piano where his sister sat. Tragedy pulled back the thick, crimson velvet curtain, and entered into the artificial night his beloved sister had made for herself. Only one light was on within the fully-curtained stage. It was round, a sort of white fishbowl with a candle in the center of it. It cast an orange glow over the dark, chocolate-colored cherry wood that made up the stage, and crept up with spindly fingers to meet the back of the girl that was once his sister. She was now just a husk, filled with nothing. No emotion, no movement, no anything.
Tragedy was going to change that.
“Comedy?" He said, his slightly high voice just a faint whisper in the large, open and empty area they were in.
She didn't even move an eyelash.
Tragedy worked his way to the raven-black piano, to look at her face. She was just the same as she had always been, and probably would be for as long as she lived. Comedy's face was white as a sheet of paper, as it had been painted that way. Her bright orange and crimson hair had fallen out of its usual bun, falling more into her face than just her bangs. Her green eyes stared at the pearly piano keys that were covered with a thick layer of dust; the black swirl under her right eye (as apart of her paint job) was slightly faded. A giant smile that stretched ear to ear, literally, permanently plastered onto her face. Bright red lips traced this Cheshire smile, adding to how fake it looked.
“Comedy."
No response.
Tragedy tried another approach, and tried to make her remember. It probably wouldn't work. "Don't you remember, Comedy? The high you used to get when the crowd would roar? When the lovers would sigh? When you'd see the dreamers just...fly?" She blinked, and looked up at him, her metal joints creaking from the months of sitting in one position.
“Too bad lovers lie. And dreamers? They die."
It wasn't what Tragedy wanted to hear, but he'd got her to look at him and got her to care, and that's all that mattered.
At that point, he really wished he could smile.

Author's Note

Sorry for the lack of indentations, word gets angry at me whenever I try to add them in for some reason.
But this was written on the spot in a Writing Contest on a different site. They give you a topic, and you write on the spot with it. I have only fixed spelling and grammar mistakes on it, so sorry if it isn't the best.

Reviews

[Jazzy]

I've heard you talk about Tragedy and Comedy, but I've never actually seen a piece with them in it. :D