I'm watching the new season of "Anne with an 'E'" and it's simply brilliant! I can't remember the last time I was this excited about something so beautiful. There's so much love and beauty in every episode, in every scene. And there are so many things I wanted to see on-screen, and they made them happen. I'm super-excited to see the whole season through! And what's so wonderful is that although there are new characters and adventures, the show has stayed true to its first season and the perfect atmosphere of Green Gables.

So, as I was watching episode seven of the second season, I had this idea of a small fanfic. I couldn't get it out of my head, so I couldn't even finish watching the episode before I'd written it all down. Just to be safe, there are no big spoilers here for the second season! At least I think there aren't. ;) If you've read the books and seen the first season, you should be safe.

This story is from Matthew's point of view. The first chapter takes place when he's but a child. The second chapter happens during episode seven of the second season.

I hope you enjoy this story, and please, please leave me a review if you do. And also if you're as excited about the new season as I am! :)

I open my eyes to meet the familiar darkness of my bedroom. I've always felt safe here—away from the scaring world and all the loud people. I like the silence. It's comfortable. I'm the happiest when I'm silent. And when she's silent with me. There will be an awful lot more silence here now.

The night is warm. I was having a pleasant dream just a moment ago—much more pleasant than the real life at this moment in time. It's very hard right now—for everyone. It feels like all the happiness has been drawn from the world. I used to love the nature, the creek, the young cherry tree next to the house. Now they all seem dull and sad, as if they could all feel the grief in this house. I wonder if they'll ever be happy again.

The silence is not comforting tonight. It feels as if it's restless, as if it's waiting for something to shatter it, so that it wouldn't have to roam this sorrowful house any more. I wait as a few moments pass, and then, it seems, the silence's prayers are answered. The silence is broken by a small sound in the next room.

At first it's a quiet, restrained sound of agitation. I know it's her and she's crying, but there's nothing I can do to help her. Even if I was brave enough to go into her room, I wouldn't know what to say or do. I've never had this problem with her, but now, it seems, everything is different. I doubt it will ever be the same again.

The shuddering sounds of pain grow louder, and suddenly I wish it had been me who'd died—then I wouldn't have to hear her cry. It hurts me so much to hear her cry. My sister—the strong, independent Marilla, who's never afraid of anything—is crying her heart out in her room, and I have no idea whatsoever how to help her. How does one help someone who's lost someone so dear to her?

I can't bear to think of my own grief. Not now, not any time soon. There's work to be done on the farm. And life must go on, no matter what happens. I must be strong for all of us.

The crying is getting louder and I can hear her calling out his name in the midst of it. "Michael!" I roll over to my side and cover my ears with my hands. It hurts like fire to hear her. "Michael!" The house is a complete hear-through. I can hear her panting breathlessly from crying out. I can picture her sprawled over her bed, her pretty hair a mess, and her face tear-stricken and desperate.

As the glowering silence resumes, I try unsuccessfully to get the image out of my head. I want to cry but I don't seem to be able to conjure up any tears. I keep wondering why that is. I know I'm not a heartless person, because if I were, it wouldn't be hurting like it is now.

I can hear her slowly getting up from her bed, and that must have been the sound of her picking up her lamp. She always leaves the lamp on when she goes to sleep. Then there's silence again—brooding, lengthening silence, and I feel a tense alertness seizing my body. I know I cannot hear a sound, but like a ghost of a whisper, the cries are still echoing in my head.

I lower my hands back under the covers. Still there is no sound from the next room or from the hallway. I've never been afraid of the dark, but now, in my terrible, anxious anticipation to hear another sound from my sister, the dark, haunted reaches of the night seem to grow deeper and more menacing around me. It's unbearable.

I wish I was brave. Then I would get up and find Marilla, and cry with her. I know it would make me feel so much better than I do now. We understand each other, me and her. We always have. Someone once used this phrase somewhere and it's never left my mind. We're "kindred spirits", me and Marilla. I know we are. I can feel it.

Suddenly there is a quiet sound behind me and I realize it's the sound of my door opening. A curious feeling of apprehension fills me. She has brought her lamp. But I'm facing away from her, so she can't possibly see I'm awake, not if I close my eyes as well. I can't look into her eyes right now. How could I explain to her that I heard her cry and that I didn't do anything about it? I'm so scared that seeing the look of desperate helplessness that I know is plastered to her face at the moment will hurt me even further.

Thankfully, she doesn't seem to realize I'm awake. Sometimes I think she appreciates silence almost as much as I do. The mattress moves slightly, and with a fluttering, panicky feeling I realize she has sat next to me.

I love her—probably more than I ever loved Michael or mother, and definitely more than I love my father. But my love, as deep and true as I know it to be, has limitations, namely my lack of bravery. I can't turn around and embrace her, nor can I even reach out my hand to clasp hers. I simply can't. And even more than I did when I heard her cry, I want to weep because she has come as close as she can to pull me out of my defensive isolation, but I am simply too scared to turn around and face her and both of our grief.

"Matthew," she whispers, and I can hear the note of desperation in her tone. I can almost feel her hand reaching out towards my shoulder and stopping inches away in desperate uncertainty. She pulls back, and finally a single tear escapes my eye. Eventually Marilla lets out a sad, echoing sigh. "It's just you and me now, Matthew. And I don't want to ever lose you. You're all I have."