Chapter 1
Rose
Yes?
Why do you think the birds sing?
No idea. What do you think?
I dunno really.
I guess they must have a reason.
Like me and my art.
Yup, and like me and my acting.
Do you think they'll ever stop singing?
Maybe. When their sun fades I guess.
What do you mean their sun?
Their happiness.
So what's your sun?
You.
Night Rose.
Night Summer.
It's the morning now, and I have to face another day. Another day without Rose. School is still on, but I don't want to go back. To the sympathetic smiles, the sad looks and the sad words. They'll tell me that she's in my heart, but I don't want her there. I want her in my life, with me. I want her to wake me up, to make me giggle, to help me through the bad times. I want her to be standing in the bathroom with me, making funny faces in the mirror. I want her to be making me pancakes in the kitchen, making a colossal mess then laughing. I want her to be swimming in the river with me, and picking roses, to put in a basket to give to Mum. Then Mum would laugh and hug us and say we’re her best girls then make pizza for dinner. I want my old life back. The safe, happy secure life, where I had Rose. But she’s gone now and there’s nothing I can do anymore.
I get up and go downstairs. Mum is already in the shed, where she does all her painting. Music drifts softly outside and it’s a sad and slow classical piece that Rose used to play before one of her big performances in drama. She said it calmed her down but I don’t think it’s having the same effect on Mum. Even from here, I can hear her crying and I know her heart is broken, like mine. She used to like Capital and pop music but since Rose died, classical is all she ever listens to. It breaks my heart, over and over, that Rose’s death had such a big impact on our entire life. It breaks my heart more though, to know she’s gone. I grab an apple, before going back upstairs, where I hide in our wardrobe. It’s full of Rose’s clothes, which smell of her. They have such a sweet scent and they remind me of her so much. I curl up in a ball and smell her soft scent. Even the smell of her perfume drifts in the wardrobe and I feel so close to her, like she’s curled up next to me, chatting. Eventually, I know I have to get up. Pushing the doors open, I step outside and into our room. She had the bed by the window, because she liked the fresh air and the sunlight that would pour in. I slept in the bed next to her, by the wall. I didn’t mind. I was happy where I slept, because it meant I was always near to Rose, and I could always hear her breathing and talking, and sometimes even singing in her sleep. All of that is gone now though, but the memories are still fresh in my mind. They’ll always be there, although they hold pain too. But still I cling to them, because they have Rose in.
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