[For Chapter I [Part I] please check my profile. Thank you.]

[Cotinued from Chapter I [Part I]]

“He did so because he saw it as the best choice for you, Rose. I, too, knew what was best for you, just like your father; we did not allow Anne to manipulate us. However, she had to go behind our back and register you with her name-choice shortly after your birth. If I had only known of her devious, selfish, religious-cantered plans, I would have stopped your mother right in her tracks!”

My mouth fell agape and then cringed back in one solid movement. “God so help me, Beth, for if you ever insult my mother again – regardless of the reason or cause – you will regret ever having set foot in this house! You have no right – no right!” As I re-pronounced the last two words, I grabbed a-hold of the first object I could lay my hands on, and threw it fiercely at her. The large, crystal flower vase missed her head by inches, scraping only the side of her shoulder, smashing against the concrete wall into what seemed to be a thousand pieces.

Beth’s eyes widened and her mouth, now, in turn, fell agape – widely agape. She ran out my door screaming as she went, “She’s crazy! The little witch tried to smash my head to pieces! Help me, Morgan! Chris!”

Naturally, Dad came running cross the hall to save his precious sister from my witch-binding claws; Morgan followed right behind him, obviously. I rolled my eyes sarcastically at her pathetic little commotion.

I purposely stalked over to Chris, and awaited his enraged reaction. His eyes were wide with fury, and I could almost play out his words and reactions in my head; they were always the same whenever he lost his temper with me; and by the look of things, this was not his only reason for being angry with me.

“What did you do to Beth, Rose?” Chris pronounced the words as evenly as he could, in sure hope that I would answer without restraint.

Nevertheless, I refused to answer him. Instead, I just stared straight into his bewildered eyes with a smug smile on my face. I was not feeling any kind of repentance for my actions.

“Answer me!” Chris hissed the words through his teeth. His countenance was not quite as collected as before…darn it.

I intensified my voice into a deep and emotionless tone, ”Macbeth angered me. I warned her, she refused to heed thereto, so I threw her with my crystal vase.” All right so that wasn’t the complete truth, but it was close enough.

“Do you realize that you could have – no, would have – killed her if your desired aim had been reached? Do you even remotely realize the consequences that would have followed such an action? Do you!” The last sentence was not a question, but a fierce, unapologetic statement.

I mocked his statement, regardless of its apparent truth, “Beth can’t die. She’s like a bloodsucking leech…she leeches every bit of your energy, courage, self worth, and life from within you to strengthen her own. No matter how much you tug or pull, she just doesn’t let go.” There, I said it!

“Really, Rose, I don’t even know who you are anymore. It is my wedding day, and you cannot even behave for my sake. Νο, instead, you attempt your hand at homicide! Beth was right – I should have shipped you off to your grandmother’s, in England, the day Anne died. You are just like your mother – no, you’re worse, much worse!”

“In what way, Chris?” I walked closer to him in slow, motionless steps. “Do I drain the life from you like she did? Do I refuse you the freedom of being who you are, like she did? Did I marry you under false pretenses, as she did? Did I restrain your daughter when she begged to visit and pray at your grave – as she did? Did I? Answer me that, Chris!”

He was dumbfounded. He knew exactly whom I was referring to…him. No answer proceeded from Chris’ lips. Instead, he glowered at the wooden floor, shaking his head lightly from side to side in what seemed to be disbelief.

“I guess not,” was my evidential response to my own set of questions. During all the years that he had spent with my mother, Chris had convinced himself that she was the one who had done all the wrong wherever wrong was done; that she had drained him from his desire to go on mission fields, and that she was the one filling his heart with her evil beliefs. Moreover, that it was her fault that he was not as happy as he had always thought that he would be once married to the perfect wife; but, indeed, the one to blame was he and he alone.

Chris hurled around into the opposite direction. Ï’m going to, um, get ready for the…wedding.”

I cringed at the thought.

Macbeth, on the other hand, stayed behind with me, glowering into my eyes as if she could read the messages that were so evidently written within them. I returned the unkindly gesture with great fervency.

Subsequently, I retreated to my bedroom in order to take a long-awaited shower and to ready myself for a trip out – I had to clear my head, which was now completely cluttered with thoughts of revenge and remorse. I stepped into the shower and opened the cold tap with full force. I stood there, frozen, for what could have been hours, succumbing myself to the stinging pain of loneliness and solitude. The ice cold water didn’t hurt nearly as much as the conscious realization of having to live without the one person that kept your heart beating; the one that gave your heart its every beat.

An uncontrollable desire, for the first time in so many years, filled my entire being for my beloved mother. It washed over me like a raging wave of water from the deepest and innermost parts of the ocean, clashing onto my isolated and dormant seashore. This sudden rush of internal pain began to manifest itself outwardly, so much so, that I curled up onto the small, tiled floor of my shower. I refused to move, or be moved, by anyone.

I began to talk with my mother, as if she could hear me. I had not done this since the day of her passing, when I, still lying on her bed, breathed in her sweet fragrance, and imagined to myself that she was still there. However, alas, that fragrance was now long gone. Every memory of it had disappeared from my senses, and it refused to resurrect itself from the grave, no matter how much I begged.

“Oh my mother, where are you? Can you hear me talking to you, or do my words fall upon deaf ears? You will never know how much I have longed for you since the day you left me behind to live this life on my own. Daily, the sun shines brightly in the crystal-blue sky, yet it seems dark and clouded to me, for you were my sun, and now you are gone. You leave me each day as I open my eyes to face the newborn morning, and you leave me each night as I close my eyes, which but reflect a starless cosmos; for you were its stars, and now you are gone. Yes, Mother, you were its silver moon.”

Ice-cold tears trickled down my warm, yet ashen with grief, face. They emerged from a deep, frozen, and broken place – my shattered heart. It suddenly dawned on me just how much grief I had buried in my soul after her sudden, heinous death. During that time, I was very much afraid of weeping too much – and remained so long after ward – lest it succumb me to lunacy. Yes, indeed, I was still very much afraid.

I stalked across the threshold of my bathroom doorway, too shaken to even breath. Gazing across my untidy and lonesome bedroom, I sensed a strong invisible force pulling me towards the eastward corner of the room to a cupboard I had not opened in years; perhaps it was a lifetime ago. Time had suddenly seemed to disappear from each memory…each moment; it was like vapor. Indeed, time was not, for she was not. At last, I now realized that it had seized to exist the day my mother’s spirit had assumed to her resting place…her paradise, of which I was not apart.

Carefully, I opened the old, rusty wooden cupboard doors, which were covered in dust that filled the room like a stormy cloud of ashes. Inside stood my little Egyptian chest, which I had filled with my mother’s things all those years ago. I had not opened it in over seven years, in fear that someone might discover what I kept so close to my heart.

Yet, I could not keep my mother’s memory locked up any longer. It was on the verge of being destroyed by all in my family; but in my heart, she would always remain supreme, and always alive. I kept the key to the little chest, which seemed so much smaller now than it did back then, under the cupboard where it had broken off a piece after Chris had accidentally dropped it too hard while going up the stairs the day we moved into our home. The hollow opening was perfect for such a hiding place.

The chest made a light cracking sound as I slowly turned over its closure. “How ironic,” I thought aloud, “everything is still perfectly intact, just as I had left it back then. What a fool I was to have thought that I could lock my mother way under lock-and-key. This was never her wish; she wanted to be free…she wanted to be with me. But it is too late for regret now, and too late for remorse. All that is left for me now is loss and pain, and eternal longing for the one I will never have.”

The sudden realization of it all confused me deeply. Why had this all come so fast – and why now? Had I become possessed by some invisible spirit? None of this made any sense to me, yet I believed every bit thereof.

Why – because I wanted to? Probably, yes.

I stared down at my hand, which rested upon on a small silver jewelry box, upon which was engraved the following inscription: Luna Mater. Having had a bit of an education in different languages, the words seemed to read: Moon-Mother. Was it Latin or French? A bit of both it seemed.

The words puzzled me greatly. I tilted the lid of the little box, which revealed a pendant of a mystical-type beauty and splendor. I had never seen anything quite like it: three moons – one full moon in the center, and two crescents on each side. The two crescents were a dark, ashen-silver in color, while the full moon was the darkest form of black – no, darker than that, or so it seemed.

I placed the large pendant on the palm of my hand – it was ice cold. So much so, that I nearly dropped it to the floor in a sudden reflex. As I tilted my hand back to its previous position, I noticed something move within the full moon. Immediately, I glanced into the dark center, hoping to discover what it was that I had seen just seconds prior. Ironically, its mesmerizing abilities kept me entranced…spellbound.

I let my thoughts wonder without a definite conclusion. The Sun dwelling inside of the Moon? Odd. I wonder how...arg, as if I’d ever be able to understand how something like that could be created, or manufactured, or whatever they call it. Well, it’s a beautiful thought, though...quite magical even.

I hastily picked out some clothes to wear for my morning out – a light pink lace shirt, dark blue jeans, and my ever-present, sneakers. I combed roughly through my dark curls, neglecting any form of makeup, for no amount of blusher, mascara, or lip gloss could hide who and what I truly was – a nothing, headed for and towards nothing. Then, grabbing my backpack, I ran out the door, slipping quickly past Macbeth before she could even say a word.

I ran across the damp, crowded streets of Al Jizah, not caring where I went, as long as it was far away from the prison I called home. The gray clouds poured down their floodgates of depression upon me; yet, I didn’t care, not anymore. The entire city was covered with pools of water from the storm which had raged itself so violently during the previous night. A sharp, ice-cold wind ripped through my chest, causing me to come to an abrupt halt – gasping for air.

A sudden piercing sound – the screeching of tires – sent me swirling around into its oncoming direction. I felt a silent scream – preceded by two words – echo through my throat, “my…mother,” yet the words were barely audible. A silver Mercedes Benz CLC-Class slammed its brakes, but to no visible avail did it come to any stop. I saw or heard nothing; everything before me was a pale white that soon faded to complete darkness.

I was frozen.

[Chapter I [Part III] coming hopefully this week. Any comments would be greatly appreciated. Thank you.]