A Sister's Bittersweet Remembrance

Written about my brother.

The setting sun strung a golden streak of light across the water, contrasting greatly with the creamy white surface of the lake as the stone-faced woman stared across the body of water, with all appearance to be searching for something lost so long as to never be recovered. Alas, it was only an act, for her mind was far in the past, recalling a time when this scene would have inspired her to the deepest poetry. A time when she could still laugh and play as carelessly as a child, with no irrelevant feelings to get in the way. Only when she was here, of course. As soon as that little girl climbed down from the seat of heaven to the very bowls of hell, there was no time for joy or childhood indulgences. There was only room for premature adult dealings. 

Her eyes seem to trick her into seeing two small, shadowy figures running across the shoreline. It appeared to be a boy and a girl, the both of them wielding sea-weathered driftwood, the boy chasing the girl around in circles as she shrieked and he laughed. Though she screamed, it was from excitement and joy. The lad's face was split into a grin as he gained on her. As he was about to reach her, she whirled and threw her makeshift weapon at him, missing him by a foot or so. As the chase resumed, the image faded. Her mind's eye returned to its rightful place and she was faced with the same image, lacking the lass and her brother. 

A tear rolled down her almond-shaped, celery green eye as she remembered how it once was. When her first and oldest companion was someone she could call her brother, somebody whose heart she knew inside and out. They shared everything and were inseparable. What had happened to that child? Who was that insufferable man that wanted nothing to do with her, and when forced to deal with her it was with laconic words and little respect. She hated that man. And she loved that boy. Even their most sacred escape from all the hate in the adult world could not bring him back to her. He'd fallen into the trap that all adults fall into. The belief that to reach manhood or womanhood, you must put away with your "childish" tendencies and settle into the meaninglessness of reality. 

With that thought, she turned on her heel, golden brown sand spraying behind her in a fan. Expressive eyes narrowed to slits and auburn hair splayed out behind her as she stormed off the beach and to her car. She had made a promise to herself to never forget her past and what had been. Melodramatic, they called her. Pardon her for not skirting the subject and acting as if nothing had happened. When they admitted to their wrongs, she would forgive. And like the ghosts of the past, she was gone left with nothing but the fleeting memory of her past. 

Author's Note

FULL OPINION

Reviews

[Carly Ithilhin]

Thank you very much for the review!

[Daniel Affsprung]

This is my favorite thing I've read of yours, very experienced writing and plot guidance. (one thing, bowels of hell, not bowls.)