Sevyn stared at her older sister as she weeped in front of the window as officials hauled their mother’s body away. They’d woken up and found their ill mother not breathing. She’d been gone before dawn. Sevyn didn’t get it, though. She and her sister were plenty independent enough to keep living on their own, and their mother hadn’t even liked them very much.
Often, she didn’t even come out of her room, and Sevyn and Reyna didn’t see her for days on end. Reyna would occasionally slip a plate of food or a glass of water into the room. But there was no reason Reyna should be as sad as she was now.
Ignoring Reyna, Sevyn continued to wash the berries she’d collected earlier that week. The sisters took turns gathering food and trading at the market. While she rinsed the black berries in the cool water she kept glancing over at Reyna’s limp form. Her dark brown hair was messy, her golden eyes were sunken and puffy, and her face was slick with tears. Sevyn wondered if she’d ever been so devastated. Perhaps if Reyna died she’d grieve. She’d be lonelier, but the solidity had never bothered Sevyn before. She’d keep plowing through life.
Sevyn split the berries into two worn down wooden bowls, then grabbed two pieces of thin grainy loaves of bread they’d managed to buy at the market the other day. She laid one bowl at the small wooden table and took the other to eat outside. Their little cottage was a small ways away from the village, at the edge of the woods. It was rustic and the wood was creaky, but they’d made it nice on the inside. Reyna sometimes brought in daisies and placed them in leftover honey jars. One way or another she’d made the whole place look brighter. Now the house seemed gray and sorrowful, laced with sadness and pain. In the small clearing in the back Sevyn had made a small wooden pen for her two hens and rooster. Early in the morning, Reyna would take a few of the eggs to trade in the village, except she hadn’t gone today.
Sitting in the small clearing, I could see the setting sun. Here, the trees parted a bit, revealing a path leading to the river. When the sun dipped beneath the river’s line, the water glistened and shone. It reminded Sevyn of the jewels she’d seen the wealthier townswomen wear.
Sevyn liked sitting out here with Reyna when the weather was nice, though Reyna had always said it’d be better if Mother were with them, though Sevyn didn’t think so. Sevyn wondered if Reyna would mourn if she died. Would she grieve? Would Reyna’s cat, Willow, miss her if she were gone? Would her mother have missed her? Sevyn didn’t even know if Mother would have cared if either of them had died. Sevyn vaguely remembered a time when Mother had been cheerful and full of life, a time before their father had died. Perhaps that’s who Reyna was grieving. But that Mother had vanished a long time ago.
Sevyn wondered what would happen when both Reyna and her had passed. Would they be forgotten entirely? Would the lady who traded them clothes and fruit in the market remember them? Would the baker who sometimes smiled at her think of them? Was this why people grieved? Because nobody deserved to be forgotten?
Often, she didn’t even come out of her room, and Sevyn and Reyna didn’t see her for days on end. Reyna would occasionally slip a plate of food or a glass of water into the room. But there was no reason Reyna should be as sad as she was now.
Ignoring Reyna, Sevyn continued to wash the berries she’d collected earlier that week. The sisters took turns gathering food and trading at the market. While she rinsed the black berries in the cool water she kept glancing over at Reyna’s limp form. Her dark brown hair was messy, her golden eyes were sunken and puffy, and her face was slick with tears. Sevyn wondered if she’d ever been so devastated. Perhaps if Reyna died she’d grieve. She’d be lonelier, but the solidity had never bothered Sevyn before. She’d keep plowing through life.
Sevyn split the berries into two worn down wooden bowls, then grabbed two pieces of thin grainy loaves of bread they’d managed to buy at the market the other day. She laid one bowl at the small wooden table and took the other to eat outside. Their little cottage was a small ways away from the village, at the edge of the woods. It was rustic and the wood was creaky, but they’d made it nice on the inside. Reyna sometimes brought in daisies and placed them in leftover honey jars. One way or another she’d made the whole place look brighter. Now the house seemed gray and sorrowful, laced with sadness and pain. In the small clearing in the back Sevyn had made a small wooden pen for her two hens and rooster. Early in the morning, Reyna would take a few of the eggs to trade in the village, except she hadn’t gone today.
Sitting in the small clearing, I could see the setting sun. Here, the trees parted a bit, revealing a path leading to the river. When the sun dipped beneath the river’s line, the water glistened and shone. It reminded Sevyn of the jewels she’d seen the wealthier townswomen wear.
Sevyn liked sitting out here with Reyna when the weather was nice, though Reyna had always said it’d be better if Mother were with them, though Sevyn didn’t think so. Sevyn wondered if Reyna would mourn if she died. Would she grieve? Would Reyna’s cat, Willow, miss her if she were gone? Would her mother have missed her? Sevyn didn’t even know if Mother would have cared if either of them had died. Sevyn vaguely remembered a time when Mother had been cheerful and full of life, a time before their father had died. Perhaps that’s who Reyna was grieving. But that Mother had vanished a long time ago.
Sevyn wondered what would happen when both Reyna and her had passed. Would they be forgotten entirely? Would the lady who traded them clothes and fruit in the market remember them? Would the baker who sometimes smiled at her think of them? Was this why people grieved? Because nobody deserved to be forgotten?
