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A tough decision (standard:drama, 1996 words)
Author: SakuraAdded: Jun 14 2007Views/Reads: 1678/1202Story 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, 


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