Prologue.
Have you ever lost something that was a part of you, but you didn't know how much a part it was until it was yanked away?
If you have, then you know that there are times when its loss tugs at your gut and you have to give in to the pressure. Random slivers of memory trigger utter panic; the smallest word or image can send you tumbling into a fright. If you tried to explain this to someone they wouldn't understand; only the one who has lost can appreciate that feeling of isolation, that sensation that the world has been pulled out from under you.
Mary Alice Brandon was my sister. My life was a dull sketch in tones of sepia, but Mary Alice painted it with the brightest color from her glimmering palette. Even now, long after she is gone, swathes of color fill my memory, tingling on the edges of my mind the way her voice once did, tantalizing and full.
When I turn a corner and expect to see her, her absence sends me falling into darkness. Without Mary Alice at my side, my own mother is a stranger to me. I feel as if I'm watching my life unfold before my eyes, halfway between where she is and where I am. I am caught in the middle, unsure which way to turn. I am lost without my little sister.
I have no words to truly describe her loss; I have only this story to tell. This loss is like a living thing inside of me, sleeping heavily in my heart. I can live with it most of the time; there are only moments when, at a slight provocation, it rears its monstrous head and threatens to consume. I have many happy stories to tell, but none of them have any resonance in my mind. It is only this, the living loss of Mary Alice Brandon, that is with me every moment.