Missing You

Written by Khaydarin9

As a member of English Extention, I have to contribute a short story or a poem to our class anthology. I hate writing poetry, so I composed this to throw into it - the alternative being putting my LotR fanfic in

As they came up to the dais, everyone said that she had died under strange circumstances. Most of them, Faith felt, were groping for something to say that would comfort her - or at least sound like they were trying. How exactly did she die, they would ask. Oh, just like that? They were sorry. But they had to go now. Time waited for no one, she understood. They would call her so that they could have a good, long chat.

Faith watched distantly as the well-wishers hurried out of the chapel. Now it was only the family and the reverend who were left. Her eyes flicked unconsciously to the coffin and the engraving on the brass plate on its side.

Felicity Kingston

1975 to 2001

The rose blossoms and fades, but its scent and beauty are never forgotten.

She waited for the familiar sting across the bridge of her nose but the tears never came. She'd memorised the intricate curves of the font a thousand times over. Behind her, her parents held each other close in silence. Her brother, Felicity's brother, moved forward to talk to her.

'I guess it's over now, Faith,' he said.

'I don't want it to be over,' she replied stubbornly, her eyes quivering. 'I don't want her buried. She … she … has to stay here. I want her to stay here.'

Christian Kingston comforted his younger sister. 'She can't stay here. It would inconvenience other people - especially the reverend. And you know Felicity wouldn't like that. Did she ever tell you what her name meant?'

'Of course she did,' Faith said. 'It means happiness.'

'You have to go back to school,' he reminded her gently. 'And I have to go back to work.'

'I don't want to go back to school!' she said, biting her lip. 'I've spent eight damned years at school. That's more than half my life.'

Christian nodded understandably. It was only natural for her to react this way, he supposed. He'd seen this sort of thing on television, read about it in books. Their sister's death had brought them all back to reality and shoved them rudely into perspective. He didn't like it any more than the rest of them but he knew that if he took too long to come to terms with it, he would be wasting more of his life. And then what would happen if he, too, suddenly died? How much of his life would he have wasted?

'The only thing I can suggest is to live every day like it's your last,' he said comfortingly. 'And that doesn't mean that you can do whatever you like - I don't think you'd want to be remembered like that.'

No, Faith said silently to herself. Felicity was always the angel and that's how she'll be remembered. Everyone will love her the way I loved her. My older sister …

Several days later, when Faith looked out of her screened window, there was a thin covering of snow on the winter-pruned rosebushes that lined the Kingston's driveway. She bit her lip, thinking of the myriad hues of the blossoms in summer. Three years had passed since they had planted those bushes together - she remembered tucking the root-bound plant into its designated burrow and blanketing it with another layer of musty soil. Another year would go by after this one and the roses would still be there; the absence of her sister would not touch them. Summer would return but Felicity would not.

It wasn't fair. What had she done to deserve death?

The weeks drove Faith into recluse. Each day, more time was devoted to sitting on her bed in her room with the door quietly closed. Sometimes, music could be heard playing but it was never loud. She would feel the softness of her quilt against her leg and gaze distantly at the colourful wool of her childhood toys.

Then, one cold, frosted afternoon, she emerged. There were no red smudges beneath her eyes, no traces of tears on her clothes. Her parents waited for the verdict - not hopefully, not happily, they just waited and it never came. She just reverted back to the pattern of life she had been happening before the Event. It was curious, admittedly, but neither mother nor father spoke a word about it to her. They simply exchanged a few glances, shrugged (who could fathom the ways of teenagers anyway?) and went on with their own lives. There was only one difference.

Christian came home one day to find his mother seated, stricken, on a stool in the kitchen. There was no one else in sight.

'She - she threatened me,' stammered Mrs. Kingston after her son had made her a cup of vanilla tea. 'She said she was angry and that she couldn't help it if she wasn't just like her sister. And all I asked her to do was to finish her homework.'

Christian frowned to himself, even as he comforted his mother, but said nothing. As soon as she was calm, he went to find Faith. The painted door to her room was open and she was lying on her bed, facing the wall.

'You shouldn't have done that,' he said quietly so as not to startle her.

'I was angry.' Her voice was nasal, as if her nose was blocked.

'That's no excuse,' he said more firmly. 'She's your mother and she's cared for you all your life.'

'I don't care!' It was an indignant cry.

'Well you should!' he replied. 'Don't you dare talk about her that way.'

'I don't have an angel to follow, remember?' she said coldly. 'She died. I'm not perfect like some other people are, so leave me alone.'

'No.'

A hush sob escaped her lips, before turning into a desperate cry. 'Get out!' she screamed, turning towards him for the first time. As she scrambled to get up, her hand caught hold of the side of a pewter picture frame. Before either of them knew what was happening, she had hurled it in the direction of the door. There was a wrench and a crack as it hit the heavy doorframe, and it fell to the carpet, splitting into a thousand pieces of shimmering glass and metal. The photo was still recognisable among the wreckage and Christian didn't have to look to guess who it was. He stood one step back from the door, watching her livid eyes and tangled hair. She had relapsed into an animal state of absolute fury.

'Get out!' she repeated, sliding off her bed. But he didn't move. He knew, now, why she was acting like she was.

'I'll leave if you really want me to,' he said, his eyes gentle and understanding. 'But why do you want me to go? Don't you want someone to talk to?'

'You're the last person I want to talk to,' she snapped. 'You don't care how I feel. All you think about is yourself and how righteous you are.'

The statement hurt, but he continued to press his case. 'Alright, so I'm righteous. How does that make you feel?'

'Angry.'

'Angry at me?' He knew the answer that she would not give him.

Faith opened her mouth to retort and paused. Her eyes widened slightly in realisation of what she had been telling herself. But her face hardened, though her eyes remained sad and vulnerable. A wave of sympathy passed over him as a rush of emotions passed over her, each one making itself visible on her features. Her step faltered as she suddenly changed direction. As she sank to her knees in front of the torn photo, Christian looked away to avoid seeing her pain - but nothing blocked out her hopeless sobs.

'Why did you leave me?' she whimpered, quietly at first. Then louder, 'Why did you leave me!'

Her breathing was short and interrupted. There would be blood on her clothes now, he imagined, from the shattered glass on the carpet, but he dared not look.

'All the time …' she cried. 'Everyone thought you were perfect. Everyone looked up to you. Everyone loved you. But now you're gone and I'm stuck here … I hate you. I hate you so much. Oh, Felicity, how could you?'