Double-Sided Letters

Recollection of a Memory: SIDE B

She flung open the door and stumbled inside, waiting for an firing squad to take her down for trespassing. But nothing answered her stomping feet and she soon began to explore her mother's room.

This room was slightly bigger than Catherine's, having expected to be inhabited by two people rather than one. It almost seemed to acknowledge the missing person in a way— one whole half of the room remained clean and empty. No signs of life. Just a little desk, a chair, half a bed and a walk-in closet. The other half, however, was a complete mess of mountainous paper stacks cascading onto the floor (Sheeterland Falls, it was nicknamed). A lone lamp, naked and humiliated, meekly shone from the top of the desk, which was unrecognizable under all the paper.

She smiled sadly at the poor lamp, picking its lampshade up off the ground and covering its bulb. As silly as it was, she still felt subconsciously that she'd restored its modesty. She turned to the closet. It was identical to the one on the other side of the room, only all the clothes were on its floor, as if Lacey believed that as long as it was technically in the closet it was considered put away.

This room often gave Catherine a chilling feeling of loneliness and half-claustrophobia whenever she entered, so she tried to make these visits brief and sparing.

But now all her attention was focused on the Sheeterland Falls, which was pouring said sheets of paper down the top of the desk as per usual. If there was one thing to know in the family, it was that any information you wanted could be found in Sheeterland Falls— that is, if anything could be found in that rubbish pile.

Lillian...lillian...where is it? She flicked through more information, eyes lingering on stains and coffee rings on each one with fastidious concern. But nothing of interest arose on this little town her mother had conveniently forgotten to mention. This thought brought Catherine past the denial period as she shifted smoothly into anger.

How could she just...forget to tell her one and only child she was shipping her off to God knows where in the middle of the summer?

On forget Catherine had flung her arms out in annoyance, knocking down several more sheets and gaining many paper cuts in the process. She winced and scrambled to put the papers back to their 'rightful' place in the pile as best she could.

As she picked them up, something came to her mind in the form of a letter retrieved from the floor addressed to someone named Hamilton:

you enjoyed the Hamilton lillians most, if I do remember (whereas I personally favored the begonias, myself). 

Flowers. Of course.

She dug deep into the depths of Sheeterland and triumphantly pulled out a note.

It was about funeral flowers, she remembered now. Someone had specifically requested Hamilton Lillians— an odd choice, but reasonable enough for the deceased. She had never seen the rest of this note, however, due to her mother's shielding and probable hoarding of letters.

She wasn't feeling quite respecting of her mother today.

Well, no time like the present...

To my dear friend Lacey Lamott:

I have received the news that your father has died. I extend my greatest sympathies to you. I am also aware that this will greatly alter your financial situation-

That was as far as Catherine got before the letter had slipped through her fingers. She stood numbly still, feeling cool wind caress her cheek in sympathy, cradling her head, and then slapping her across the face for her stupidity.

Stupid girl, it hissed venomously, you knew this would happen.

She trembled as the breeze crawled into the chinks in her somber armor, slipping under her dress and winding horrific thoughts up her legs.

That's right, you knew, it told her, panting with laughter as it bound her waist tighter and swallowed her arms. You could have stopped it—but you didn't, no, you did nothing.

Her personal chill had curled around her neck like a scarf, suffocating her (as if she wasn't already). It developed a liking to her hair, burrowing inside and worming into her mind, her eyes, and her tongue:

"You deserve it!"

She clapped a dumbstruck hand over her mouth to stifle the doubt. Sensing something amiss, Lacey Lamott chose that perfect moment to rush into the room, red-cheeked and wild-eyed.

"Catherine-"

Catherine looked up at her mother with the expression of a confused young child. You didn't exactly need mind-reading to tell the look had broken Lacey's heart.

Her grandfather.

Why was I right? Why...was I...so stupid?

But she still hoped, no matter how absurdly ridiculous and futile it was.

"Peppy?"

Such a strange motion, the shaking of a head.

A signal is sent to the brain from a small motion, left-to-right, left-to-right.

The brain recognizes this brief moving of the head to be interpreted as an answer- and a rather undesirable one at that.

But how does one understand such a vague and broad movement? It could possibly mean a number of things, yet so much can be inferred from this.

Remarkable.

Truly remarkable.

Truly-

"I'm sorry."

Words flowed out of Lacey's mouth in an abundance of explanation.

Catherine curled up on the floor.

Explanations are only useful when you get pretty little 100 percents for them.

✎ ✐ ✎ ✐ ✎ ✐

BACK IN BLACK

I HIT THE SACK (I wish)

Well, I may not be wearing black, but I am back! Yay me! (So much homework why)

So, in case some of yalls are really confused, Side B CHAPTERS are the past, and Side A CHAPTERS are the present. Clarification.

In addition to DSL, eventually I plan to update short installments of a story about cloning, for some of those ethical issues that have risen and to see what a future with cloning will be like. So if morality issues, futuristic ways of life, and mental people are your jam, you'll probably enjoy! Warning: There will be zero boys, because in a future with cloning (yes, this is true, I swear) girls can implant themselves with clones to give birth to without needing guys..so yeah. Awkward but true, sorry. (not sexist I promise)

THANKS FOR BEING COOLIO