✓ DYING MOURNINGS, original

one : the beginning

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𝐎𝐍𝐄 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

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"Honey, breakfast is ready!"

I slowly opened my eyes, blinking the sleep away as I stretched my legs. It was early, nearing seven o'clock already. The sky through my windows was still dark, clouded over as always. It seemed our little town was always stuck in the middle of rain and cloud, always on the brink of something more.

Rising from my bed, feeling the chill of my room from the loss of blankets, I padded my way over to my dresser. I had laid out an outfit the night before, thinking I would be getting up late, like I tend to do more often than not, but I spent the majority of my night staring up at my ceiling and stressing over today.

Mom had gotten a new job, right smack dab in the middle of the school year. She lost her position from her prestigious hospital on the outside of town and was now being transferred to the local unit. It pays less and the hours are hell, at least, that's what she's told me about it so far. And, because of her getting the downgrade of the century, we could no longer afford the pretty school I was attending before. It was either stay there, get a decent education and continue to go to school with all the people who pitied me, or start over fresh at a completely different school in the middle of senior year but be able to keep our house.

I chose the house.

I've grown up here all my life and I couldn't imagine giving up our family home, not when it held memories of him. It felt, sometimes, like he still haunted this place. His spirit still floated about, memories of our lives together trailing behind in his absent wake.

I turned my focus back to my outfit, now regretting the shirt option I had laid out and leaned over to dig out a new one. I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself, coming in the middle of January already did that for me. Instead, I wanted to go for a more chilled out look, something casual that didn't scream 'new kid, new kid!'

"Blaire, baby, you better be awake up there!" yelled my mom, her voice coming from the stairs.

I opened my bedroom door, giving her a smile and shouted back, "Getting dressed! Be down in a second!"

I could smell the bacon sizzling on the stove and I smiled as I closed my door. She was trying to make this okay, I knew that so I couldn't exactly be too mad that my life had been uprooted. Hers had too.

I dressed silently, struggling only slightly to pull my jeans up. I ran a brush through my hair, working the tangles out and noticing a near red sheen to my lifeless brown hair when the light hit it just right. I smiled, working out the last hard knot and wondering if his hair ever did this, too. I had his hair; dark, almost chestnut in the light. Sometimes, if I studied myself closely enough, I would see bits of him in my face, as if he truly were haunting me.

But, it wasn't his looks that were always reflected back to me. I had my mother's nose, her smile, and her beautiful green eyes. Although mine are dulled compared to hers, it gave me comfort to know she was looking back at me.

Louise Lake was (and still is) one of the most effortlessly beautiful women I had ever seen. As I came down the stairs, backpack slung over my shoulder in silent dread of the day, she stood behind the island in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in her hand and a spatula in the other. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, little strands dancing around the edges of her face. She was beginning to gray, the little streaks resembled woven strands of silk. Her skin was lightly tanned from a hike she had gone on a few weeks ago with some old work colleagues out of town, and I could still see the beginnings of freckles across her nose and cheeks.