awaiting, patience flush to porcelain. a lingering gaze here, a wavering stare there; students whispering to the wind some awe. militaristic influence is no farce && stature proves validity. to pick the younger up from the school day, one responsibility among the multitudinous array—it is of normalcy. && only in the emerging of roseate locks midst crowd does the inklings of tired simper present itself. the aches from a long shift long forgotten in that instance.
She was silent, again, for the entire day. Despite what encouragement she might’ve tried to incantate in her mirror — as though the glass might double-down, reflect what hushed possibilities she’d been trying to convince herself of — her faux magic cowered in its opposition to reality. As soon as she crossed that homely threshold, she’d been alone, again. Left with the mental catechisms that had grinded her mind to something surely uninhabitable, consequently inescapable; had repeated since then. What was she missing and why was there pain? The answer had to be somewhere nearby, discoverable certainly had she only scrutinized harder, divided herself into more pieces on the inside. In the end, it had all only felt connected by that singular devastation — aloneness. Claire was there like an overarching destiny, hopeful prospect. Not always accessible but unquestionably inevitable, a walking totem wherein the younger’s faith could be kept secure. How much of it could she put down there without being a burden? A burden? She’d never say that to me ... But would it invalidate any chance of it being the truth?
I’m not going to have this conversation with you every time you get pissed off about me not being there. I am there. Everything you’ve ever needed, you’ve had. You never had to go without.
It had been the truth, hadn’t it? Those pieces she had divvied up to examine on her own, they had arranged an image of a fortunate life. Hunger was an outlandish notion. It was Claire who had redirected her when she’d begun to ogle at the impoverished man on their street corner. Everyone has a battle. Stop it. If Claire had truly meant that, then what grief did the younger face? It could be loss, she thought to accuse it even but Claire had been powering through, hadn’t she? What felt like an ever open wound that two shared had only debilitated her, meanwhile Claire had ran ahead for help. She was okay with waiting. Claire was not. Lightning, not Claire. And like lightning, life was only a flash, dissolving into evanescent flickers, impatient. It did not wait, it never did; it only ever stopped. Our parents ... Lightning was racing against an unseen force, almost. That was how it felt. She was going somewhere... could Serah follow? Did Lightning want her to?
There was a familial pink beautifying the crowds. Lightning was always there, wasn’t she? An inevitability, the best her life could guarantee. Lithe, rosy levin. She was unfading, and no matter how finite her smile had been, it was bright enough a beacon for the younger to nearly run to her. She was not okay with waiting; it did not mean she would never come back. Her arms find themselves around her sister’s abdomen, head buried into the other’s chest. Moments she’d savored in unmeasured silence, retracting her head with swelling eyes.
“I’m sorry about — ..” She sniffles. “About last night. It just gets hard... hard for me. Sometimes I just.. I just think about what if you’re all I’ll have forever?” She is babbling, wrists swiping at dampened cheeks. “Now I realize how lucky I am because of that; because we’ll always be together and we’ll always have each other... you know?” She nods as she smiles — reaffirmation for them both.
“Always, Lightning.”