Mandela catalogue headcanons

The Mourning for Mark Heathcliff

Sarah couldn't believe it. She just couldn't. As much as she wished for it to be false, the evidence was right in front of her. Her brother was dead, and there was no denying it.

(earlier that day)

It was a rainy morning when she woke up. Although she never considered herself superstitious, she knew rainy mornings were a bad sign. Her expectations proved to be true to her luck (well, bad luck).

Sarah heard a commotion near the door. It sounded like her parents were talking to someone else rather aggressively. She quietly crept down the stairs and sat out of view but ensured she could hear the conversation. 

As soon as she was ready to hear the argument, both of her parents slammed the door in the person's face. Sarah gave a jump of surprise and made her way to her parents. Both of her parents were hugging each other, crying. Whatever happened, it wasn't good.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her parents to notice her, but they didn't. They were too caught up in emotions to see her. Sarah coughed to get their attention. Both of them turned to her with tear-strained faces. 

She threw her arms up in the air in confusion. "Anyone gonna tell me why you guys are crying?" she asked. Her mother lunged at her and flung her arms around her, rocking her side to side while sobbing. Sarah looked at her mother and then her father with confusion plastered on her face. Her father walked over to her and knelt down. He placed his hand on her shoulder. Sarah could see him attempting to bite back tears. 

"Uh, about Mark," he said softly, trying to hold the lump in his throat back. Her confusion turned to worry as her father paused. 

"How do I put this," she heard him mumble, "A-about Mark. Remember when he was gone and the school called?"

Sarah gave a slow nod. Something was definitely wrong with Mark. "Well, uh, t-that was because h-he was, or is, uh..." Her father turned his head away from her, letting out a sob. At first, Sarah seemed a bit confused, but she caught the memo after a few seconds of thought.

"N-nice try," she stammered. She hoped her parents were wrong, that this was wrong. Was this why Mark wasn't responding to her with her failed call attempts? It did make sense but no, it had to be wrong. Mark was too young to die. She was too young to lose a sibling. "Please?" she whispered but was met with even harder sobs from her parents.

(The day of his funeral)

Sarah reassured herself with her thoughts. No, NO. This is all wrong. They are wrong. Mark is alive, he has to be. He would be alive, wouldn't he? 

No, this is all a cruel prank. They are just messing with me, testing me. She was sure of it, and yet...

She found herself standing at the foot of his coffin.

Sarah stood there in disbelief, disgust and uncontrollable grief. Mark laid there lifelessly, oblivious to the commotion surrounding him. He would have looked peaceful if it weren't for his wounded head and the forced closure of his jaw. Sarah felt her legs turn to jelly. She collapsed onto her knees and gave an uncontrollable wail.

No, she reminded herself. This isn't real, this isn't real, THIS ISN'T REAL!

But reality had confronted her and given her the unforgivable truth. Mark was truly dead. She couldn't deny it, yet she wanted to.

Sarah knelt there, sobbing her heart out. She always said she hated her brother but in true sibling fashion, she loved him. She never knew how much he meant to her, until his death. Now he was gone, it felt as if something was missing from her. 

She stood up (rather shakily) and leaned towards Mark's head. "Mark," she sobbed quietly, "I want you back. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every moment I hurt you. Please, come back."

Sarah gripped the edge of the coffin tightly, hoping he would somehow come alive, but reality confronted her again and left her with the harsh truth. Mark wasn't coming back, he would never.

Sudden anger and hatred filled her. She needed to get to the bottom of this, she needed to find who was responsible for his death. Sarah wouldn't let the killer go empty-handed, no, she refused to. 

One day, she would make them pay, and she was sure of it.