Liliane: Black

Tuesday, December 19 2215         01:06        Canberra, the Commonwealth of Australia

I can’t stop crying. Technically it’s not crying, but more like gasping and choking and screaming my head off. My face, having been soaked in tears for more than six hours, desperately needs a wash. I open my mouth and scream, howling once, twice, thrice. If only someone could hear me; if only someone would actually care…

Yet how could they care anyway? Not even I do. When a loved one dies, all one can do is sit around in sorrow, sobbing tears of grief and nostalgia. How she died, how I did not know the way thus did not stop it, how I would never see her again… all this makes me want to kill myself.

And I do. I will try, after I’m done thinking and reminiscing about her. I don’t deserve to live. If I cannot care for my sister, why should I care for myself?

~

Ignoring the tears streaming down my face, I run to my antique Tibetan cabinet and yank the bottom drawer violently, only to find that it is locked. Desperate, I grab my white handbag and pour all its contents onto the floor. Clattering down is all but what I need. A shriek of frustration escapes me as I crumple to the smooth wooden floor in exhaustion. Once my head hits the edge of my bed, my fingers close around a small object, probably the most intricate invention of all time.

I drift back into sanity and haul myself up. The key slides into the hole perfectly. Short rapid breaths accompany the screech of scratching wood as I pull open the drawer. I stretch in my trembling hands, hot and wet from sweat, and rummage around for a while. Then I reach out and see the sparkle of diamonds.

In my hands, under the yellow light of my room, is a necklace of silver and diamonds. Seven translucent diamonds, with seven colors of the rainbow, and seven English letters engraved onto the jewels. Slowly and gently I spin each diamond around until the name is revealed. My name, engraved onto my birthday present.

I clutch Hayley’s gift tightly, shoulders heaving. My legs give way and I fall back to the floor. In the past her necklace has always succeeded in pacifying my emotions, but not this time. She’s gone, a voice in my head tells me. She’s gone, and so is part of you.

I rise and walk to the window. Lifting my head to the sky, I make out several bright twinkling stars and wonder which one has become my sister’s eternal home. My tears have dried and I manage a faint smile. It is my unspoken promise, one that will do both of us good.

Here we go.

~

Tuesday, December 19 2215         04:00        Canberra, the Commonwealth of Australia

Running away is a simple task, once you master the basics.

Traces are not a matter. They will find you. They always do. What matters is that you get the longest time to think things over and decide that, again, home is safe and sound. Which means you have to cover the longest distance in the shortest time before they find you. My first runaway was two years ago, after a big altercation with my mother over my school grades. I didn’t make it two miles when I was cornered by the police.

But not this time. This time I have to leave forever and I will. I am not running away from home, but merely from myself. A coward I may be, but again, why should I care for myself?

Two hours. That’s all I have to deal with. During the taxi ride I cannot hide my excitement of the prospect of becoming free. Not only will I be released from the pain that life brings, but I will also be able to rejoin my sister in the barricades of heaven.

~

Tuesday, December 19 2215         06:29        Moruya, the Commonwealth of Australia

At school we used to study descriptive writing in hopes of improving our lousy nonsensical compositions. Over the years teachers have taught us to describe everything from people to places and actions to feelings. I have always managed to grab an A in every composition I write.

Yet I cannot describe what I am feeling now. Is it of anxiety? Anger? Joy? Eagerness? Is it the fear of the unknown, or the relief that I will be free soon? Neither choice seems likely. I guess I have been facing death for a long while, and have gotten used to it.

The night sky is as black as my heart. The moon hides despairingly behind swirls of clouds. A series of small mountains, only their silhouette visible against the gloomy sky, cast eerie shadows all across the forest.

It is strangely cold and bleak as I approach the bay with unsteady steps. Splashes of water, accompanied by the eerie whistle of summer wind, do nothing but increase my insecurity. The stretch of golden sand and the dark heaving sea seem unnaturally inviting to me. The sea comes alive at night, Hayley once said. In the distance I see the reflection of light on the metal rails at the edge of the bay. I take a deep breath and run towards the sea.

What happens next is a blur. I see a car stopping and a person running out. He is heading towards me. I know he is to stop me. I turn my head to look at him, but recognize his face. Someone screams my name, twice, the first time of shock and the second of dread. I approach the rails and reach out my hands to hurl myself over. Instead, I get pulled backwards onto the ground and my world goes black.