In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Today's prompt (Write whatever you feel like writing)
Dear Robin,
It's strange, isn't it? How the notion of God was once a steady presence in my life but now it's fragile and distant. My faith is shattered into countless shards, scattered and lost and swimming along in my grief. It's hard to believe in a higher power when the person who meantthe most to you gets taken away. Lately, I've been feeling this little nudge in my brain that's making me consider giving God another chance. I'm tired of feeling like I'm floating around in this world without a safety net. I never realized how lonely it became when I stopped having someone to talk to. Someone incapable of judging me.
I don't think I'll ever fully understand why you were taken from us so soon. And It's a daily struggle to come to terms with it. Picture yourself climbing a steep mountain while trying to juggle flaming torches, dressed in your birthday suit.....While reciting the Periodic Table. But I digress.
Paris told me that sometimes bad thingshappen to good people and that God has nothing to do with it. I've been blaming God for the complexities and uncertainties in the world we live in but I'm learning that I don't have to hate God to grieve you, Roe.
Love, Reagan.
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I'M IN THE MIDDLE OF painting a ghostly apparition peeking behind a gnarled tree in a dark forest when the first few raindrops start to pitter-patter on the roof. Before long, the gentle taps evolve into a fierce downpour, drowning out every other sound. The rain seems to give Walter the zoomies and he enthusiastically scales his cat tree, dashes back and forth between the kitchen and living room, and then darts from one end of the sofa to the other. I put my paintbrush down and lean back on my forearms to look at him, laughing when he just barely stops himself from slamming into the glass doors of the balcony.
Paris left to visit his sister and niece an hour ago and our interaction was tense, to say the least. He tried to act like nothing happened but I noticed that he avoided looking at the kitchen counter where he sat me on and whispered all those dirty things in my ear. I started painting because I needed the distraction but despite my best efforts, Images of us together keep intruding upon my thoughts. Well, at least I've managed to finish painting the portrait of him that I started. Maybe I'll consider giving it to him, just like I used to before it felt like my world fell apart. The apartment smells like the new coffee Darius insisted I try and soft Matt Mason music plays from the speakers of my phone. I feel, not happy I don't think. But peaceful maybe? It doesn't feel like the world weighing on my shoulders at least.
I'm so engrossed in the strokes of my paintbrush, watching Walter dash around the apartment and humming along to the song playing from my phone that for a while I don't hear the knocking coming from the door. I frown when the noise finally breaches my ears and get up to go answer it. A tall woman with a baby boy sleeping in the carrier strapped to her body greets me with a demeanor both cautious and anxious, a hint of trepidation flickering behind the nervous smile she offers me. Her black hair has rain sprinkles and her dress is damp like she just nearly managed to get out of the rain.
