It wasn't easy to forget about her.
Yet, Annalise did her best to — day after day, month after month, and now year after year. It was easiest during the quieter moments, when there was nothing special about a day other than whether one survived it or not. Holidays, however, were another battle, one she did not win. When other soquili cheered and celebrated, Annalise would feel a pit growing in her stomach, eating away at any joy meant to be and replacing it with a bitter, deep guilt. How could she be happy, after all, when the one she loved dearest was gone?
Gone.
Gone often meant deceased — gone from this world, never to walk amongst it once more. Gone in this sense might as well mean death, Annalise would bitterly agree. Wherever Annalie was, the one she missed most wasn't. Gone, missing, lost. Ah, she liked that word; lost. It tasted better on her tongue — still acidic, but more palpable.
Sometimes, she'd catch herself ruminating, wishing for better times or— when her mood was especially foul —younger days. Then, just as quickly, she'd shake the notion and return to whatever task that was meant to occupy her attention. Today was harder. Today was one of those loud days, when cheer rang in the air, and voices shouted in celebration. If Annalise had just waited, had just taken one step back, then perhaps her sister would be there with her, cheering along with the echoes of others' jolly.
But, she hadn't — she had chosen to keep running, her legs taking her far from the birthlands of a herd that had never accepted them. She hadn't looked back, hadn't checked if her sister was at her heels; she had just assumed, and that assumption cost her the best and only friend she ever had. Serenity was gone, and Annalise was alone. She deserved it, she figured. What kind of friend runs ahead without checking over their shoulder once? How could she honestly say she loved Serenity when she didn't even think to look out for anyone but herself? She couldn't, at least not out loud, where the guilt could rear its ugly head and cram down her throat.
Sometimes, mostly during times like these, Annalise thought of returning to the old herd grounds and to check one more time for signs of her lost one. She had before, nights after losing Serenity, but the herd had moved. That was the risk they had spoken of; if one got out, how would they find the other? The herd never spent two nights in one spot, nomadic by nature and law. They'd have to make sure to stick together, Annalise had said at the time — flee together, so that they'd never be separated again. Obviously, the plan had failed, and now Annalise was left with the dreaded question: how could she find Serenity again?
She had tried, exploring lands unknown to her and learning languages foreign in hopes someone, anyone had seen the herd or Serenity. The first few years were tireless and full of hope. She truly believed if she just kept looking, just kept hunting, that she'd find clues about the whereabouts of her people. That hope slowly rotted, turning into a thick sludge of grief and despair as the years passed without a single answer. Now, seven years later, a bitterness lay in her stomach, rolling in the acid of her regrets with each lonely passing holiday and birthday. Serenity was no more in her world, and she had come to accept it reluctantly.
And now, the new year tumbled clumsily in, whips of wind and snow greeting its icy awakening against soft red clouds. She couldn't bring herself to cheer. Maybe someday, but it still stung too much. Every new year was just time passing, marking yet another tally of the years she was free, but regrettably so. If she had known she'd lose her best friend— her sister —she would have stayed behind, for suffering was worth doing it together. She may be free now, but the heavy weight of what she had lost ghosted behind every step, pulling her down further and further into the muck, until one day she'd just be nothing more than bones.
Maybe then, when her time on this earth was finished, she'd be reunited with Serenity. Perhaps then, she could feel at peace.
But for now, the year was turning, and Annalise found herself staring at the sun of a new, lonely, cold day.
WC: 762
Reply
