74 on Oublié Pt. 1

The violin's strings screaming in agony along with the painfully, beautiful sound of the harmonic woodwinds echos in my ears, rattling in my past. The dim sky forever dark pressuring the sun to undo itself from containment, and yet the sun was the color of midnight. The cold, illusive winds of the north whistling against my skin, whispering the dreadful song of the dead. The borage of barbaric thunder clash on the church's aging windows as if the Great Demon himself has grown jealous of the living, and here I am no tears, but stiff in the body legs shaking to the earthquake of guilt.

"Brother when will Mom and Daddy come home, are they still sleeping with the dog, are we going to see th-?" Before her gentle voice could finish I embra but to protect myself from the realization that life is so uncertain.

"An'monrae, we will see them again, I promise." I responded, with a shade of a fool's smile, and a slice of lies dug from Hell itself.

Those innocence questions my dear sister An'monrae spoke to me in her benevolent voice brought a single tear to my eye, a tear that rivals the thickness of blood, but equals in sorrow and grief. The music continues to play, now here comes the angels of the dead, the funeral march has begun for my parents, our parents. The piano desperately sings the tone of Chopin's own Funeral March as the prayers are heard.

Then I turn to the crowd.

Not to their faces I stared, but those ghostly, envious eyes gazed upon the children of high birth fall to the ground in shame. The gravekeeper's dusty shovel rusted with the regrets of the dead, Madame Lemaire's smiles haunts me till this day. As the organ sanged its final chorus, the men in white mask lifts the caskets of our parents, hesitant to look at us in the eyes as we stand to follow.

As we walk through the town, the people dressed in black ignored us, throwing black roses on the caskets, whispering, staring, yawning, cheerfully regretting of coming to this Requiem. Why are we the only one's suffering, I wondered. Painfully walking to the beat of Requiem in D minor, I heard two elderly woman, whose faces speaks of sloth and gluttony,

" Who is going to take care of it, those two children?"

"I can hear you." I softly whispered to myself as a second tear fall from my face, this tear was a trailblazer for more to follow, not from sadness but from anger and the sin of Wrath.

" I can not imagine myself feeding them and caring for those things, no one can, and no one should, for they are unwanted!"

As she finished the line I wanted to scream, but my sister An'monrae abruptly fell to her knees and stared at the two women. The rain has stopped, God has forsaken us, the people have shunned us, the town has forgotten us, this world is an executioner playground, yet glorious and benevolent to all.

"An'monrae, it's been nine years since the Heavens have forgotten us, but the world moves on without a care of who or what dies." she did not answer, sitting on the bench pluckin the beauty of a rose away.

"An'monrae do you remember Mo-"

"Carnewell" she suddenly jolted up and faced me, her blue beaming eyes concentrated on its prey, ever so moving closer to me, her soft voice whispered " I have you, my half brother, the only creature I need in this Hell, to Hell with those things, they left us alone." Her response, I could hear the pain, but before I could give an answer she kissed me on the cheeks and smiled.

It began to rain, as it did on that day, but the drops of water began to sting so heavenly on my fragile skin, a relief a signal that I am still alive. Pulling out my umbrella I looked at An'monrae, her innocent white gown began sliding down her shoulders, the drenched clothes began to become illusive or transparent, yet she stared at my wandering eyes and smiled. Looking down I began to cover her trying not to make contact, but her begging eyes wanted more. Walking through the garden to our house I stared at An'monrae, reliving the vivid memory of her regret of becoming an outcast, becoming parentless, but her journey to the independent women she is today, "What keeps her going I wondered?"

"Carnewell, can I get closer to you my shoulder is getting wet" obviously it was a bold lie, but being the older brother I granted her wish, no her command.

"Of course."

Approaching the house Carnewell gazed upon her ruined gown, the white silent gown of the forgotten daughter of the world.

"So it's pink." Carnewell whispered to myself.

" What is pink?" that sarcastic tone and her grim smile, the blushing cheeks, her eyes whose stare never missed caught my curiosity. Stumbling on my words all I could say was nothing, but ask a dull question to change the tide of this war of attrition.

"How's school?"

"Good." her monotonous voice only echoed her frustration.

"Hows that math class?"

"Good."

"Hows the-" she stopped in front of the wooden door, no motion, no emotion, but a frozen statue. Finally turning with the empty gaze of a criminal accused of murdering the King eyeing down the judge she mumbles a phrase and thrusts through the door, slamming it behind her.

"Carnewell isn't your head hurting about now"

Now that she mentions it, my head is killing me, maybe i should lie down. Walking through the door, Carnewell's vision begins to escape him, his thoughts beginning to gush out of his weakened brain, his steps becoming louder, and uneven. His eyes exploding with pain, he collapses, as An'monrae patiently waits for the Carnewell to be revived.

Seconds past, the lunch begins to grow cold.

Minutes past, as the lunch becomes sterile, bacteria invading the stronghold of nutrition.

Soon Hours past and An'monrae hears the heavy footsteps of a bass drum, drumming to the toons of war, its Carnewell, the boy of two worlds, two faces, his other personality has awaken, his Amnesia in full affect. Turning the corner he sees An'monrae awaiting him drenched in her wet nightgown legs spread across the floor, her cloths hanging to her shoulders in dear for their dear life.

"Carnewell, my beloved brother, you can't keep a young woman waiting." as she rises to her feet, walking in a devilish way she embraces her brother, letting the floor taste the smoothness of her gown, his DNA mixing with her's as they fall to the bed. The shadows of the storm, rumbling along to the rhythm of the bed rocking against the fearsome oceans of society, the only two crew members fight for dominance only to find the true equilibrium of adulthood.