Aloha Means… Good-Bye…
Alana walked up the remains of the stairs. There was no ceiling on the first floor and no floor on the second, only the houses support beams. The roof was mostly gone as well. Cautiously, she made her way into the remains of her room. Sitting on the beam where her bed had previously been, Alana looked around at the charred walls of her room, seeing if there was anything to salvage.
The wooden wall décor could hardly be classified as fish anymore, and nothing could be recognized. She stood and entered the open, scorched door to her closet. Her clothes were done for, as were most of her shoes. She grabbed the single pair of orange Converse that had somehow survived, and then left her closet, back in her room. She turned to her dresser and eased open the badly burnt drawer. She began to sift through the charred remains of her clothes, pulling out what little she might be able to save. She moved toward her desk, and on it was a box she had never seen before. It was charred and black, like everything else in the room, but it still seemed to be intact. It was wrapped in some soft, fragile substance, and topped with… the remains of a bow.
She picked up the box, sure that whatever was in it had long since burned to a crisp, but still she pulled off the paper, and opened the box. She gasped softly and picked up the necklace by its delicate chain. The pendant hanging from the silver was a piece of multi-colored glass, molded into the shape of an angel fish. It looked like it hadn't seen the fire, so Alana clasped it around her neck, tucking it out of sight.
Casting one last, long look around her room, she left, taking her salvaged items with her. She'd never come here again.
She sat on the porch steps, staring glumly at an ant walking along with a crumb bigger than it was. Someone cleared his throat, and Alana looked up at Mr. Bubbles. He held out an envelope to her. She took it from him. "She'll be here to pick you up soon," he said, then began to walk away.
Alana watched him go, then turned to envelope over in her hands. Slitting it open, she pulled out its contents. Her breath caught in her throat. It was a picture. Just a picture, but she knew it would make her cry. It was a picture of herself and her family, just after they'd moved here. Her mother, heavy with her baby sister, Beatrice, her brother, six years older than her, texting as usual. Her step-father was there too, glasses askew, and looking like he needed to sleep. She, too, was in the picture, two years younger, and the only one who was excited to move to Hawaii.
Her parents were native to Hawaii, (her parents being her mother and father, not her stepdad) but her mother had moved away for collage and stayed in New York with her dad for fourteen years before the divorce. Since then, her family had… adjusted, her mom met her new husband, and he had shipped them all off to live in Kauai.
Hot tears pressed against her closed eyelids, and she clutched the photo to her chest, willing herself not to break down. Squeezing her eyes shut tight she began to sing the song her mother had taught her when her father had left.
"Aloha oe, Aloha oe. E ke onaona noho I ka lipo. A fond embrace, A ho 'i a 'e au. Until... w-we meet..." She broke down, sobbing, unable to finish. She clutched the picture to her chest like a lifeline, and cried like the world had ended. No one could see her, now. So she cried. Cried because her family was gone. And she cried because the last time she sang that song, to her father, she had never seen him again.
