Dark Days

• Isabela Sekuloski, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

Others thought that today was different. The wind still blew, swaying the willow tree's branches softly. The sun still shone, the water glistening with its touch. But this day, despite its non-changing routine, was different. It was raining. I could tell because I could hear the pitter patter of the rain, kissing the window with ease. The sky was rolling with thunder as it danced with the wind. All my family had been gathered in a single room where silence reigned over. I didn't need to see to be able to know that my mother was silently weeping, thinking that nobody could hear her. My father was at the table, finishing off his bottle. I knew my brother was sitting on the couch and was constantly repeating sorrowful tunes. I was standing by the window that overlooked the preschool. I had turned my head away, afraid that somehow the past would walk towards me.

As we waited, stone cold in misery, our alarms went off. My mother strode out of the house first, ruined mascara still down her face. My father followed next, face flushed. My brother had grasped me on my arm, leading me through the doorway I know so well. The moment I stepped outside, a torrent of water thundered down on me but I paid no heed. He led me to the car, where I presumed my parents were waiting. He sat me down, telling me that it's ok. I nodded my head, not wanting to ruin the hope he so clearly displayed. He took his place at the other side of the car, leaving the middle seat unoccupied as if a presence still lingered there. I slid my head between my legs, creating an illusion of comfort. The car purred softly when it started, contrary to how it normally roared. It was like the car knew. But of course that was not a reality.

The ride was draining. We spoke the tongue of silence, each exchanging glances. Of course, I could not be involved, that much I know. I withdrew into my mind, the place were I could be happy. I walked through my golden city, small white creatures greeting me. I could see, my eyes were no longer clouded. I liked this place. I began to walk to the golden tower, where I would encounter great beasts, but my dreamland was halted, for the car had stopped. My father and mother exited the car whilst my brother, again, helped me walk through the maze of stones. We reached the place that we were meeting at and stood in front of a box. At least that's what the blurry lines in my vision had shown me. My father fell to his knees and began to weep. My mother continued to watch in misery as my brother followed suit. She moved my hand onto the box and I felt tears slide down my face. She told me that they finally moved it here after weeks of pleading. I replied that the smallest coffins are the heaviest.