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Sorry this took a while. Not because I slacked off, but because it's so long! Sorry that it skips around a lot. Three more chapters after this one. Thanks for sticking with it and happy reading, folks.
46
Home
Pearl's Night
"Echo, you have to go to sleep," I tell her. She's barely higher than my knee, a mess of green eyes and dark curlicues. Hardly more than a baby. She's staring up at me with watery eyes and her thumb stuck in her mouth.
"I want mom," she whines, tears spilling out onto her cheeks. My heart pangs but I keep my composure.
"I know sweetie, but I told you, she's not coming."
Her face twists up as she starts crying harder. She wouldn't be so upset maybe if she weren't so hungry. But there's not a lot of food. And no money to buy more.
"There was some fire on the Pelican," some man said through his cigar, "The boat's boards were all sealed with pitch. Those who didn't burn suffocated. Those who escaped drowned."
It's been a week. A week since I ran to the docks to find out why my parents hadn't returned home. A week since I saw the list of the names of people who were not coming back. Who burned. Suffocated. Drowned. I'm not sure which one my parents did, but they're all dead, so I guess it doesn't matter. We're supposed to get money to help support us when our supporter dies, but if I go to collect it they're going to know that we've been orphaned. And that means the home. Annie and Echo wouldn't do well in there. It's a prison.
I scoop Echo up into my arms and hum a lullaby to her until she quiets. Then I tuck her up into a blanket and lay her down on her mat. Annie is sitting in the corner, staring straight out at the room. Barely blinking. Barely moving.
"Annie. Bed. Now."
She doesn't flinch at her name. I go over to her and fix the braid I put in her hair and then force her up and guide her to the matt. She goes through the motions hollowly, but at least when she lies down on the matt, those wide and unblinking eyes finally close. Annie's always been fragile. Sick as a baby. Sensitive and a toddler. But this. I never expected this. I don't know if I can handle losing a sister too. And I don't know if I can handle taking care of a shell-an exoskeleton of a human when there are those living who I need to care for as well.
Give her a chance. If it becomes too much...then...
Then what?
Then you'll have to do the merciful thing.
I'm not sure what that means. Maybe it means to give her up to the hospital or a home, or maybe to send her out on a raft with the tide and turn away. Maybe I'll just finally stop forcing her to survive. I don't know. I'll think about it when it comes to it.
My stomach twists with pain and emptiness, making me wince. The hut is dark and empty. Two days after I found out they died, I sold all of my parents' things and all the décor in the house. I kept only the table, the chairs, and the mats on which we sleep. It was hard, but I didn't cry. Not even when I realized that it only made me enough to feed us for a week. I haven't cried in a week. Not once.
But I'm starving. It feels like my stomach is so small that it might tear when I stand up too straight. And Echo is always tearful, so I know it's hurting her too. Annie shows nothing, but if she's going to recover, we're going to need food. And that's simply that.
I don't know why, but tonight is darker than the other nights. The moon is gone behind wisps of clouds and only a few stars have made an appearance in the sky. The waves crash onto the beach in the distance, setting a steady tempo for my breathing. You know you're starved when even taking in air aches you.
