Page 10 - DeepRestFlipFinal

NICHOLAS BOOTHMAN
Mallory. Her younger sister. Her vibrant, brilliant,
utterly lost sister.
Evelyn stood in the doorway, her hand still on the
cold brass knob. The air in the room stale, heavy with
the ghosts of forgotten laughter, of whispered secrets,
of a life extinguished too soon.
The bed was neatly made. Too neat. Mallory had
always been a whirlwind, a chaotic force of creative
energy. Clothes strewn, books piled high, half-finished
canvases leaning against the walls. Now, the room
was sterile. A museum of a life that was.
Evelyn’s gaze snagged on the bedside table. A
copy of The Bell Jar, Mallory’s favorite, lay face
down, a bookmark halfway through. Next to it, a half-
empty mug, a ring of dried coffee staining the
porcelain. And then, the small, framed photo.
Mallory, ten years old, gap-toothed, beaming,
clutching a worn teddy bear. Evelyn, a gangly thirteen,
arm slung protectively around her. They were on a
beach, the ocean a shimmering blue behind them,
endless and inviting.
Evelyn closed her eyes. The image burned behind
her eyelids. The Mallory in the photo, so full of light,
so full of promise. Not the Mallory who had withered,
who had retreated, who had finally, irrevocably, given
up.
10