Sisters

         Elowen

I hadn’t tried to steal. Well, I had, but it was necessary. Some things in life are necessary.

***

I sit in the police station, staring at the rain dripping down the window panels. Even the sky sometimes cries, I think. As the rain sobs on, my heart seems to weep with it. I look around in the blank room, the desolate walls, the hard bed, and then back outside. 

Why? I think. Why does my heart, the world, why does everything seem so weary, so sad?

I hear the door open, but refuse to look at the man who brought this misery upon me.

He clears his throat. “Jenney.”

        I still ignore him. ‘Jenney’ has never been my real name. That was the name the man named me. My real name is ‘Elowen”. It’s Cornish for an elm tree, but the man didn’t care. He didn’t care it was one of the only things from home, he didn’t care that I was Cornish, or British.

He clears his throat again. “Jenney, your sister is here.”

Inside, my face curls with disgust. Sister? I have no real sister. That sister died away years ago.

Outside, I just said a simple, “Tell her she can come in.”

                                        Rosen

I nervously step into my sister's cell, to see her staring out the window, seemingly at the rain.

“Elowen,” I said softly. It broke my heart to see her like this, so lost, so alone. She had always been the happy sister, she always had a smile on her face.

Well, until Father and Mother sent her away.

Elowen hadn’t wanted to go. She had never wanted to. She had a talent for dancing, so Father and Mother had sent her away to the best ballet school in the world, The School Of American Ballet.

Elowen had never liked ballet, or dance that much. The night before she left for the school, she had pleaded so hard for them to change their mind. But they only shook their heads, and told her she couldn’t go back home until she became a world class ballerina.

Father and Mother had always been hard on us. They had meant no harm; they just wanted her to do something they could be proud of.

But she hated the school. She hated every minute of it, every second, and every class. She hated every new pair of pointe shoes she was given, and every old pair she threw away.

But every day, she coped with it. She would cry herself to sleep every night, but she would never talk of it. Every morning, she would put a smile on, and force herself to get changed for the day.

But one day, she had had enough. She quit. 

Only, she had nowhere to go. She was on the streets, begging for every meal. 

And that’s how she got here.

She had gone a week with no food, and then saw a small, but perfect loaf of bread. She hadn’t even thought about it. She was too hungry. She took it, but the baker had made a huge fuss.

And now, here she is, a sad, hopeless child.

                                          Elowen

I stare at the stranger in the doorway, who everyone called my sister. 

She didn’t look the same. Her messy, but pretty braids were now in a tight bun, her face seemed to have more freckles, and she had gotten glasses.

Her spunky play dress had been replaced for a pair of ripped jeans, and a cropped top.

Her face seemed different, too. She seemed as if she had become more serious, with her mouth set in a straight line.

But still, I see a small hint of pity, like I would see in my real sister. 

Maybe, just maybe, my real sister will come back. I think.

“Elowen,” she repeats. I nod my acknowledgement. She runs over to me, and I allow her to embrace me. She looks up at me, like she used to do in the old days, like she used to do when she trusted me, and took me as a role model.

“Why?” she blurts out, emotion clear in her voice. “Why did you have to do this to yourself?”

I smile slightly. She was just like Rosen, my old Rosen. “You know why.” I whisper. “It was best for me. It’s better to be left behind than to do something you hate.”

She nods, letting the tears flow freely down her cheeks. “But why? What do you like doing?”

I smile again. “You know what I love. Music.”

Her grasp became tighter on me. “I know.” she whispers. 

                                         Rosen

I stare at my sister, realizing she had never changed. She had always been a kind, loving sister, and would always be. No amount of terrible ballet school could change that.

Other things had changed about her. Her eyes, for example, used to be a sparkling blue, but now they seemed a bit dimmer. Maybe it’s just the dreary room, I think.

But how could I change my parents' mind? They thought she had become a monster, and no longer the meek, happy child she used to be.

And because of that, they won't let her home, they won't shower her with the love she deserves, they won't do anything for her.

They think she is hopeless, if anything.

But what can I do for her? She's alone in the world, with no one to call on, to relate to, to anything. She was.....

Then, I realize the answer. She might not be able to ever go home, but at least she could do something she loved, something that made her feel at home.

***

Elowen stares at me, and then back at the piano I brought. For once, her blue eyes light up with the shining child-like light. Her hug was now no longer hesitant, but a full, loving hug.

“You may always be left behind,” I say. “But happiness is something important.”

                                            Elowen

          I eye my sister, and realize the most important thing in the world. 

My sister, Rosen, was always there. I just didn’t realize it. She never died away. No, I was the only one who died away. She was there, and will always be there. And no matter what happens, we are and will always be sisters.

***

Author's note: This story is based on a poem I made, which I called ‘Left Behind’. The poem I added right under this.

                     Left behind

By:

             Moriah Passero

Tears flowing down your face,

Moonlight shining through the panes.

I see the flowers, in the vase,

I feel your neck, as we embrace.

I hear your pleading, whispering,

“Please don’t leave me through the night,

Don’t leave my candle, shimmering.”

I shake my head, considering,

I see your teardrops, glistening.

I hear the birds, twittering,

I see the water rippling.

Tears flood my eyes, as I declined,

My voice choked up, I shook my head.

But through it all, I remind,

That you, my dear, are left behind.