Amethyst: Chapter One: Remorse

Chapter One - Remorse

         Am woke up in a frosty sweat. “Just a dream,” she cautioned herself. “Yeah, a horrid memory of a dream.”

         She hauled herself out of bed and trotted over to the mirror atop the seasoned wood dresser. It was a cloned scene every overcast morning. Her dark blonde hair was tousled from a choppy night’s sleep, and dusky circles were pasted under feeble bloodshot eyes. Her shallow skin was nearly translucent after weeks of indoor activity.

         Amethyst relished the summertime. Everyday she was left alone in her vast home. Her brothers, sisters and parents all headed off the work, swimming, basketball, and all the other merry activities most people who lived in Whiteout, Indiana engaged in during the summer, No one else would be home. There would be no one to witness Amethyst’s tears and metallic screams as she attempted in vain to sleep.

         In the summer Am was left alone to…well she didn’t really do anything much. With no school to busy her life and take up a good chunk of the day, Amethyst felt no need to absorb herself in any summer activities.

         In the summer Am was left alone to…well she didn’t really do anything much. With no school to busy her life and take up a good chunk of the day, Amethyst felt no need to absorb herself in any summer activities.

         This was the way things had been for the last five years. Every year Amethyst’s parents had had a different reaction to her “predicament”. When she was nine they were comforting and reassuring. They acted as if they knew what was amiss, but Amethyst knew they were without a clue. Not long after her tenth birthday her parents became anxious. Even Amethyst could not name every single therapist she saw that year. When she was eleven they were infuriated. Her mother became frenzied and barked at her daughter maliciously every time she walked through the door. Amethyst’s father threatened her, and one even left, abandoned her, in an exotic neighborhood fifty miles away from home. After she turned twelve they began to avoid the issue. It became her distinction in her house, school, and daily life.

         Amethyst did not speak. She had not uttered a word since the day Xylina died. Countless doctors had told her parents, Mr. and Mrs. James that this muteness was a common sign of depression, and it would “wear off eventually”. It never had. Amethyst made noises, sure, including the seemingly endless screaming in the middle of the night. That did not aggravate anyone anymore. To her brothers and sisters having a sister who didn’t speak, didn’t smile, and hardly slept because she was up all night screaming her head off was perfectly customary. Amethyst never felt like part of the family anymore. The rest of them were so blissful, easy, and free. She was the oddball James.

         In the hallways at school people stared. Amethyst often wondered why. Why was she an object of curiosity? She never said anything. Never one did she bully another child, say an unfriendly word to anyone, or take advantage of someone. She kept to herself a lot, writing notes when she needed she express herself. She was the bizarre girl, much weirder than anyone at C. Victor Jicobs Junior High had ever seen. Just her physical appearance was enough to turn heads. It was a more common sight for nurses to view than average students.

         Today was no unusual a day. Amethyst posed, staring blankly into the prehistoric chalky mirror, not really thinking about much, jest remembering; remembering the loss of her sister - her younger, more vulnerable, and so much more angelic sister - Xylina Emerald James. Amethyst did not even have to shut her eyes or ponder at all to conceive an image of Xylina. She could easily picture her short tawny bob of hair, those enormous compelling brown eyes in which Amethyst used to get lost, and the toothy four-year-old grin.

         Amethyst had to whirl away from the mirror as if she had been slapped. For in her reflection she could see Xylina. One could not tell just by glancing at Amethyst that some of her features were similar to Xylina. It was the formidable cheekbones, the full lips, and the bony angular nose that really set it off.

         Amethyst was startled when she felt the tears on her skin, the gentle moisture slipped down her face, sliding down the crevices that were her hollow cheek and nose. Hurriedly she shoved the emotion away and trudged down the creaky timeless staircase.

         Downstairs amethyst thought something was altered. What had changed in the kitchen? Were the walls that loud yesterday? Vaguely she recalled her mother talking about repainting the room, but that was at least three months ago. But had it? Had it been three months ago? Time had been passing wither too fast or excessively slow for Amethyst. Time did not matter anymore though. Things at the James residence began and ended long before Amethyst was aware of their existence.

         Shrugging her lifeless shoulders, Amethyst dragged herself into the family “computer room”. In truth, it was called that only because there was a run-down desk from Tristan’s old room and a chair jammed into the grey-walled room. Tristan had turned fifteen the previous August, at least as far as Amethyst could stretch her brain to remember. In addition to the furniture, there was a fossilized computer more fit for a museum exhibit about the ‘90s. 

        Another day in my lonely life. Nobody here to talk to. Nobody wants to talk to me anyhow.
         Maybe someday I’ll get over this. Maybe. Someday. But how soon? And how? How can someone ever get over the death of their sister? How? I don’t know. Especially if you didn’t stop them. You didn’t stop them from plunging the knife into her back. That’s what they did. That’s what I did. Metaphorically. Metaphorically, I stabbed my baby sister with a knife in her back. Backstab. Backstabber. That’s me.
         Oh and if I find out you read this Mom, Dad, Tristan, Joy, Kainen, Christopher, or Jade - you’ll wish you hadn’t.
         I killed my sister. I killed Xylina. Your daughter, sister, granddaughter, friend, student, cousin, or whatever. I killed her. Amethyst killed Xylina. And what are y’all gonna do about it?
         We cannot change the past. We may only remember it in the deep dark parts of our hearts. It’s hidden away, a secret that I can hardly admit to myself.
        Backstabber.
         Traitor.
Always,
Am