It was an eventful Monday for me, in that I now have four less teeth, with gaping holes and bloody gauze taking their place. Lovely 🙃 At least now I have legitimate excuses to take read books all day and take lots of naps. (Not that I needed an excuse anyway!)
Read Taylor’s post for this prompt!
Prompt for March 13, 2016: First line must be, “She made a poor job of hiding the damage.”
“The Art of Sisterhood” by Rachel Cernosek
She made a poor job of hiding the damage. And the evidence clearly pointed to her. The scribbles were undoubtedly Rosie’s handiwork, thick and black and done in Magic Marker. And not to mention, all over my AP art project.
It was ruined. The canvas, once a seascape of beautiful pastels of sky and foam, was now destroyed without hope of repair. The hours and hours I’d spent contemplating color schemes, perspectives, shadows… All down the drain.
Fury welled up behind my eyes in angry, red tears. I thrust the canvas down, screaming for her sister. “ROSIE!!! You stupid idiot of a sister! How could you?!” I began to tear through the house, searching every nook and cranny that could potentially hide a nervous six-year-old. She must have recognized her mistake in the form of belated guilt, and hid from me.
“Rosie!! You’re the worst little sister ever! You’re dead!”
She was hiding well. I hoped she was cowering in fear at what awaited her. I wasn’t sure what I’d do to her when I found her… I wouldn’t hurt her, but I just wanted to yell, to shake some sense into her so she would see how much her actions affected my life. She wasn’t in the bathroom cupboards, nor in her room. I checked the entire upstairs, the booming of thunder outside merely echoes of my anger.
“Get out here, Rosie. Get out here now!”
Not downstairs. The reality of the situation was dawning on me; I’d have to repaint that entire art project. It was all her fault. And I’d never forgive her for this. I wanted to shake her, to drag her upstairs and show her again what she’d done, like sticking a puppy’s nose in its own mess as punishment.
I turned to the front room, and saw the red door was wide open. It rattled against the porch wall from the wind of the storm, letting a spray of cold, pouring rain into the house. My heart sunk, my knees hit the ground, my breath caught in my throat.
She was running away from me.
– – –
Five hours later, and the police search team finally brought her home. The playground. She’d taken refuge from the thunderstorm under the slide in the neighborhood playground. Five hours of freezing rain and crippling fear…
Fear of me.
They brought her bundled up in a blanket twice her size. My parents, who had rushed home from their dinner as soon as I’d called them, seized her first, sobbing and kissing her wet ringlets of hair. Once they let her go, I watched from the living room, and her big brown eyes slowly raised up to meet mine.
I burst into tears and brought her into my arms. Guilt overwhelmed me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, and for scaring you.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, with her sweet little lisp. “I’m sorry I ruined your painting.”
“Rosie, I’ll never yell at you ever again. I love you so much. You’re… You’re my sister, and I love you, no matter what.”
“I love you too.”
I didn’t let her go.
~ ~ ~
Thank you for reading! Don’t forget to check out my friend Taylor’s writing entry for this same prompt at her blog! If you would like emailed updates from my blog, please scroll to the top of this page (or go to my homepage) and press the “+Follow” button at the bottom right of your screen to enter your email address. Don’t forget about my bullet journal and hobbies Instagram account, also called turbulentrhapsodies, to see all of my creative and academic endeavors!
Read my previous stories and poems for the March Writing Challenge:
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