Under siege

The Funeral

I woke up at nine a.m. that Tuesday. I hadn't been able to get much sleep since my fathers passing, and had only rested my eyes two hours before the alarm rang, awakening me from my much needed slumber.

I layed there another thirty minutes simply staring at the gray wallpaper that stretched around my room. Tears sprung to my eyes as I realized it was my father who had suggested it instead of paint.

He always said paint gave off a fake sense of perfection with the way it rarely peeled. On wallpaper you see every rip and run. He believed within those imperfections there was a story.

I slowly rose from my safe haven under the covers, and walked over to my closet where I had already picked out a pastel purple dress . Now you may think the color selection odd, but my father always told us to save black attire for a night out on the town. We thought we'd reason by wearing color, but with dimness in it.

The realization that someone murdered my dad hit me. How would I ever be able to solve such an issue on my own? I couldn't think of one person who would have reason to do him harm. Then again, I wasn't able to think straight much these days anyway. Who knows how many people I could be looking over?

I made my way to the bathroom, feeling the cool tiles assault my bare feet. I kept my night cap on as I stepped in the shower, turning the tap to a chill.

Though there was a bit of uncomfortability at first, I soon adapted. I'd learned a while ago that cold showers enabled me to think better.

I ran a mental check of all the people I'd ever met at any luncheons, special occasions, or accidental spottings that knew my dad. Still nothing seemed to make sense.

I stopped the shower frustrated, knowing this mental investigator stuff simply wasnt enough. The reason I hadn't already done more was because it would more than likely shock and upset my mother. She'd be shocked because she wasn't so used to me taking action (that was Valery's role), and upset because she knew that there was a good chance the people who had murdered my father were still out there waiting for a chance to strike again.

I slowly wrapped the towel around me, a chill running up my spine at the thought of my father's murderer striking again. I raised my head to examine myself in the mirror, deciding that from then on I'd never let something as simplistic as death send shivers through my body. I'd be strong without worries of repercussions.

I slowly slipped on my dress which ran just above my knee. I took out the braids that had been in my hair and allowed it to cascade down my back. I decided I'd let Valery braid it before we left.

I put on a pair of diamond studs and a tiffany braclet I had received from my father a few weeks before.
In my closet of shoes I selected a simple pair of white flats, unable to work up the energy to wear heels any more.

I walked down the hall to Valery's room, lightly tapping on her door waiting ten minutes before reaching out and opening it myself.

What I saw crumpled on the floor was not the fabulous and strong sister I had come to know. Her hair was disheveled as if she had made attempts to tear it out, and though her dress was on and her make up had obviously been done at one point, it now ran down her face. Her dress, now covered in a mixture of stains from lipstick, cover up, and eyeshadow had been made into what could now only be called a tissue.

I ran over to her side swinging my arms around her shoulders. She slowly looked up but soon back down, ashamed at being caught at such a low point. This only made me pull her closer.

"You shouldn't have to see me like this." she exclaimed, standing up abruptly. She wiped her eyes, and began making her way to the door, as if suddenly ready to conquer the world.