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The stairs she sat on were freezing, despite the house being too warm to battle the winter. Her right hand clenched the wood, a protruding nail digging deep into her palm, red from the blood. It should have hurt, she thought, alas numbness paused feelings and time. All were moving in slow motion for her, her sister's rubbing on her back, her father's dash to the door. The loud volume of her surroundings was nothing but a whisper, as loud as the balmy wind of spring that swayed the flowers in a meadow. She could laugh at the metaphor, the tranquility of it in juxtaposition to the mayhem of the moment. She could do a lot of things. Scream, throw a vase at the wall, cry.
No, it was not a matter of could, but a matter of should. Who remained frozen at the mention of the death of a loved one? So... cold?
Not a single tear.
Nothing.
"Oh my God! Rosie! I... Michael... He's dead." Violet Jones was crying and Rosalie was just staring at the fucking painted tulip framed above the phone.
How was that possible? He was with her less than twenty-four hours ago.
"What are you talking about, mom?" Amanda asked.
Rose closed her eyes and inhaled.
One.
Two.
Three.
The oxygen disappeared, and she was drowning. Not figuratively. Literally.
She brought her fists to her chest, which throbbed as her lungs filled with water, her lids opening wide to stare at the bottom of a river. It was deep, the light from the surface far away, the rocks below closer but still out of reach. The movement of the algae captivated her, the necessity of breathing sidetracked. Her fingers extended to touch them in their dance.
Left, right. Left, right.
They picked speed, following the current, and a sense of dread crawled near.
Left, right. Left, right.
Rapidly now, they ripped off, getting swept up. But they did not come into contact with her. It was like a bubble was shielding her body from the violent change in the waters, hair delicately floating as the greens flew by her at full speed.
She looked intently at the ground, clearing piece by piece. There was something there, something revealed to her. Rose pushed the water back in an attempt to swim, and this time she got a few inches closer, her vision lucid as a human head appeared. Its short brown hair was dancing as hers, defying the current, though sections were absent, showing a pale skull. Parts of the face were gone too, leaving holes in the forehead, on the cheeks. Where it remained, the layers of tissue were grey, wrinkly, and sickening. Eyes, absent, had moss in the sockets, small fish feasting on what pieces of lips endured.
