|A tough decision (standard:drama, 1996 words)|
|Author: Sakura||Added: Jun 14 2007||Views/Reads: 1717/1230||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|About a depressed girl thinking back to a memory of her sister.|
What could she do? Narissa tenderly stroked the shriveled rose petals with the back of her index finger. All she knew is she couldn't pretend any more – Couldn't pretend everything was ok when it wasn't. Her eyes welled up with the many emotions of her past and she found herself suppressing tears. Her sister Monica had known Narissa was going through a difficult time in her life. She was the one who understood. What more was there in Narissa's life, other than monotonous tea parties and functions to attend? Pretty dresses and how her hair looked had meant nothing to Narissa. She remembered back to the day when the rose was fresh and beautiful. Back to the day of her sisters' accident. Narissa was out in the garden, rocking herself half-heartedly on the swing, which hung from the old weeping willow. It was a beautiful day; the sky was a clear blue blanket of watercolour, only cut by the suns radiant rays caking the ground. The flowers had stretched themselves out freely in reply to the strong presence of the sun. Narissa felt she could smell so sharply that every freshly cut blade of grass and every blossoming camellia had it's unique scent. Narissa's snowy white frock glittered and shone in the dappled light, giving her dress sharply distinguished spots. Narissa was unaware of her striking looks, she had always thought her sister to be much more beautiful than herself, but in reality her wispy light hair, petite facial structure, with dark, innocent eyes and a soft, pale complexion pieced together to give her a remarkably doll-like air. Narissa had been overwhelmed with depressed and exhausted emotions that day. Manners and small talk exhausted her. Hairdos and fashion exhausted her. Life exhausted her. Her life, she felt, was a lead of tedious, meaningless events. Only her sister knew of her feelings. I have to talk with Monica she thought. Narissa's dramatic eyes scanned her surroundings and she focused her vision on a servant, raking at the ground rhythmically. “Excuse me, come here a moment!” The scruffy workman glanced up in surprise and made his way over to the young lady under the willow. “Yessum, miss, what is it I c'n do fer you?' “I wish to speak to my sister, Monica. Do send for her.” Narissa said, with a distant, vague tone in her voice. The workman told her indeed he would send fer ‘er right away, and sure enough, Monica's figure made it's way towards the rope swing five minutes later. Narissa and Monica seldom received comments that they looked alike, largely because they didn't, indeed, look anything like one another. Monica's face was rounded, and she owned small, cheerful looking eyes, of a shimmering baby blue colour. She had a radiant smile, complimented by her white teeth and noticeably dimpled cheeks. And her hair was a thick, healthy chestnut brown, framing her face like a perfect picture. As Monica neared, Narissa observed a white rosebud of which the stem was delicately woven between her sisters fingers. The fresh rosebud had a white silk ribbon attached loosely to the stem, and Narissa pictured a large swan when she laid eyes on it. “I brought you something.” Monica kissed Narissa on the forehead and handed Narissa the perfect rosebud. “To remind you of the simple beauties of life. No matter how bad you might feel. There is always hope. Hold onto it. And remember, things can get better.” It was as though Monica had read her mind. She always knew when Narissa needed comforting. Narissa received the rosebud graciously, looked her sister in the eye and attempted a weak smile, but Monica thought it looked more like she had a mildly painful toothache. Narissa remembered that day well. She observed the dead rose and found it hard to imagine that it had once been beautiful, how she had once compared it to an elegant swan. No, she could no longer pretend she was ok. But what else could she do? She felt a warm tear roll slowly down her left cheek, as she remembered the accident later in the evening. Narissa was still seated under the willow when the sun was waning, and the first star beamed, alone and bright. She clutched the rosebud in her right hand, so hard it almost snapped in two. The shadows were long, and her mothers camellias were now only tipped with golden lining. She could sense the presence of night, falling over Wellington. In the distance, back near the house and pool, she could see her aunt and her mother with Monica and Pat. They were preparing a barbecue with the help of a servant and cook. Narissa never much liked her older brother Patrick. He was very...arrogant. Though, she thought, that was certainly not the perfect word to describe him, she wasn't too sure if there even was a word perfect to describe her brother. “Rissa, Click here to read the rest of this story (110 more lines)
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