[Part 1] Prologue
My mother... could be very emotional when she wanted to. Most of the time, however, her stance was stark, and she kept a fierce posture whenever she went into her work for the day. I remember, because I would go visit her job when I got off school. Accompanied by my older cousins, I would see her working at a computer. She often took the brunt of getting fussed at by her employer, and responded to this aggression with arespectfulamount of tact.
I never really knew my dad, nor do I remember anyfondmemories of the relationship he had with my mom. Mom always said he was an asshole, but, then again, she’d call just aboutanyonethat when it came to muttering phrases under her breath. Sometimes, it was funny to hear the stories she’d ramble on about; how dad was a complete moron, how he couldn’t cook, how he couldn’t save a penny, or how the guy was such a worry-wart. Other times, however, she’d start to- I forget the word.
Relapse?
Panic?
One time -- oneday-- that woman had decided to throw away her tact for a few moments of... emotional comfort. Catharsis. Never had I seen mom be so -- yeah -- cathartic. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t even panicking at all. She wasn’t calling anyone any names. She was crying.
She was crying to the sky above.
My ghost of a father aside, there was one other person who never stayed in this family, either.
My sister.
It was a sunny day, yet we were standing over a tombstone. On it, were big letters forming someone’s name. At the time, I couldn’t read them. My own tears were clouding my vision. The graveyard-esque place around us was... big. Normally, I’d wanna run around and get lost in something like that, but, at that time, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to stay by my mom’s side.
It broke my heart to see her like this. This was an astonishingly new form to see her in! Her face was completely red, and her lips shook like never before.
I never really knew my sister, as I looked at the grave which spelled out her name.
Oh, and, uh, for the record... my sister wasn’t actually dead. Y- Yeah. This was just some propped up toy my mom had in our backyard. Awkward, I know.
So, a few years back, my sister had gotten into some huge fallout with my mom. Being too young to understand what was going on, I thought my sister was being weird, and I chose an undying allegiance to mom. So, my older sis left the family, burned her bridges. Thus, shewasdead to us.
It seemed so cruel, so self-absorbed. She left my mother, alone... to be likethis.
And yet, mom would look down at me after her wails and sobs, and say, softly, “You look so much like her, Evrich.”
I wanted to comfort my mother, tell her to stop crying, and that everything would be okay, but that comment of hers just made me burst into tears even more. My face was the wettest it had been in quite a while. Then again, at that time, I was just a kid. I would cry, all the time, over just about anything.
Sis,where did you run off to? Have you seen dad where you are? WillIever see you again?
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