Let's play a game, Catherine.
Count the colors.
A car.
A road.
The girl in said car had her head leaning on the window, one sixth of an inch separating her from the rain drops outside pattering their little fists on the glass, demanding entry. She closed her eyes, knowing she couldn't block out their banging.
You first. Let's see...there's lots of black. Yes, tons. A bit of grayish-blue; that's probably the sky peeking out. So much black...black dresses, black cars, a black-covered procession of people walking in. Why are they so sad, Catherine? What's happening?
The girl wondered why the affair had to be solemn. Why couldn't it be bright and jovial, like the ones Peppy laughed about? She gritted her teeth, grinding them to pieces to hold back the screams.
Peppy wasn't here.
Breathe...
Her lips clamped firmly shut.
Or don't. Whatever you think will benefit you most.
"Catherine, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you," the girl's mother said slowly. Her eyes remained fixed firmly onto the road, looking for solace in its moist tar. "I wish I..." she dropped her head and folded her hands together, a subconscious response to stress, and continued, "I wish I could've had the heart to let you know."
She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to be Catherine Lamott. Her head was screaming.
Say SOMETHING, tell her she's a LIAR, tell her YOU LOVE HER, tell her, TELL HER--
Instead, she choked on her own deafening silence.
✎ ✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐
3 B.L. : 3 HOURS BEFORE LILLIAN
It was not a large or grand affair. Somehow this enraged her. The whole world should have been there; she should've seen the bowed heads of all the strangers he had helped wherever he went, those strangers he'd called magnificent people, jee-ust magnificent.
She circled a thumb around her clenched fist and wished the skies would open up and rain fiery tears. She would hold out her tongue for them, twirl in the ash flakes and make angels on the ground. The joy of oblivion. She seethed inside, seared by hatred and regret. She should've known. She should've told him what she saw--
She blinked rapidly, shaking her head at twice the speed. No. She saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. Drown it. Drown the thought.
Something grabbed her hand. Catherine tensed noticeably.
"Catherine, it's me, it's me," her mother said tenderly, cradling her daughter's hand. "How are you...feeling?"
Catherine remained silent. She squeezed her mother's hand. Then she stopped.
Liar.
She recoiled.
"We are gathered here today..."
The priest was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. He was a distant relative or something...Catherine didn't know for sure. But his robes were much too big, and threatened to drown him in cloth. He looked like an impostor, a fake in oversized clothing.
"To remember a very important man..."
People wiped their eyes back and forth. Automatic. Like windshield wipers; left and right, right and left, tissue after tissue. Not genuine.
YOU ARE READING
Double-Sided Letters
Mystery / ThrillerA town blooming out of nowhere. A dysfunctional wall looming over its citizens. A box full of envelopes addressed to a girl with no past. And so Catherine receives some letters with a peculiar quirk: One person writes on the front, The other writes...
