They Placed a Wreath Upon His Door
She was face up on the creek bank when we found her. Face covered in one of Harlan’s wet shirts. We ran her up to my house and laid her out on the bed in the front room, river stink and all. I pinched her nose and breathed into her mouth, lit by the prism of light that beat into the room at that time of day.
I looked into her glassy eyes and pumped her chest. “Dammit, Sister. Live, you hear me?”
She never listened to me in life, so I don’t suppose it surprised anybody that she defied me at the end.
No doctor could get back in our hollow during the Depression, and if one did, I couldn’t have paid him, especially not to pronounce her dead. So, we gritted our teeth. Sent my boy up and down the ancient slot canyons to round up the family. Dressed her in pink. She was real pretty. It was almost like she breathed again.
I helped them move her to the pine box myself. Wanted to hold her one last time before we put her in the ground.
The last thing I did before we nailed the lid shut was reach in that box for one last squeeze of her hand.
A fiction series to explore a phobia. Read the introductory installment here, the second installment here and the third installment here.
The saddest thing? That this tale is as old as time.
It is. That’s the truth.
And she squeezed back…
Yikes, Lou, this was horror story enough without that!!
I’m sure would if she could….
Could she?
Andra, this is so sad…beautifully written, but sad.
I do need to write some uplifting stuff next, don’t I?
She’s going to squeeze back, isn’t she?
Who knows?
OR worse, she’s conscious but CAN’T squeeze back, and she’s about to be buried alive
Anything is possible in fiction, I suppose.
I haven’t come upon this type of sibling love but perhaps it’s out there?
Even in the short time I “knew” her something about her resonated with me. I think one of the things about a great writer is that you can make people care about the characters. Great job Andra.
I haven’t come across it, either, and do not expect to.
While I missed reading each of your posts on a daily basis, Andra,it was interesting, if sad at the end, to read them now. Well done!
I hope all is well in your world, Penny. I know your sister has been under the weather. Please message me and let me know how she’s doing.
Where’s hubby?
Most likely drunk.
I squeezed her hand and the cold of death crept into my own. I could feel the still blood slowing in my fingers, and hand, and wrist. I tried to pull away but we seemed to be as one. A faint film of a smile, I could see it on her lips. I could her whisper, “we will always be together. I started to fall forward, to join her that pine box. If Buddy had caught me by the shoulders, pulled me away, I think i would have gone with her and been lost for ever.
But then still, I am lost. Have been.
Very touching and of course, sad. Beautifully written, Andra. I had a thought that perhaps the story would take on some kind of twist and maybe it wasn’t so! At least not yet…
An ending as charged as the rest of the story, Andra.
This is so not my stuff, Andra. Beautifully crafted, but fucking depressing:)
You are really cranking this one out… or it is making you do it.
They make me, Ted. They make me.
Sometimes that happens.