Caty's Creek: Chapter Three: Memories from Long Ago

Okay, for those who haven't made it to FictionPress or heard about my story, Caty's Creek, you might want to head on over there and read the first two chapters before you read this. This is chapter three of the story, as so obviously stated in this post's title. So, let me continue on with the story..





Caty's Creek


Chapter Three: Memories from Long Ago


Elyse's POV





I sat there wondering how it all could have happened. Was it really ten years ago? A full decade? It seemed like only yesterday I sat at her memorial service, sandwhiched between Mom and Dad, the horrible flashbacks going through my mind. We had the ceremony at the base of the creek; the treacherous waters that claimed my sister was the loudest guest. It was stormy, a perfect cliche for a memorial service of a little girl's death, a horrible tragic death that there was nothing anyone could have done.


But me.


I always thought that if we hadn't gone out to the creek, hadn't scaled the mountain behind our house, hadn't played in the creek...she'd be here. She'd be fifteen now, chatting wildly with me about the hottest boy in school, or how she wanted to go to the winter formal later on this year. She wouldn't have been claimed by the creek if I had sucked up my pride and let her beat me in CandyLand. It was her favorite game, and we would have played for hours. She would continually beat me, and before long, we'd have dinner, watching out the kitchen window at the pouring rain. Later that night, instead of being at the bottom of every fall, being embeded into the banks of the creek, she'd be in my bed, with her little teddy bear and blanket, listening to me tell her what the thunder was. It wasn't just loud noise, I'd tell her, it was God, playing bowling with little Jesus. She'd learn that night the rain was just God's gardener's watering the Earth, God's little garden. The lightning was just the flash of a camera as people took pictures of Jesus. I'd tell her not be scared at all about the thunderstorm, and she'd fall asleep in my bed. We'd wake up and eat pancakes, we'd bake cakes on our birthdays. We'd continue our childhood. I'd still have a little sister, I wouldn't be an only child.



Everyone acted different from then on. Caty's birthday wasn't a joyous occasion each year, as it should have been. It was mournful, sad, a time of grieving. My friends acted different, they'd start complaining about their younger brother or sister, say they wished they were an only child, and then they'd just stop. They'd exchange nervous glances, and mutter apologizies. Nothing was ever the same without Caty. It was like she was the Sun that lit up my world, she was everything important to me then. I hated that I had drug her out to the mountain with me, "It's a beautiful day," I had said. "Let's go play in the creek, Caty. It's your creek, remember?"



The creek was always Caty's. Always had been, always will be. I remember watching the preacher tell how Caty was a happy child, gleeful. She brought joy to everyone around her. And it was true. But now, in those days after her death, everytime her name was mentioned, my mom would flee the room. That's where Momma was during the funeral, she was in the house, watching from the window. She couldn't bear it. She just couldn't. I don't blame her. Not even to this day.



The rain picked up and I had to adbandon my spot by the tree. I returned to the house and picked up my cell phone. I turned to the cabinet and rummaged through as the phone rang, calling Joel back. I found my treasure, a packet of cake mix and icing, as he picked up. "Come back. I'm making cake."


AN: as said above, this is a continuation from the story Caty's Creek posted on fictionpress. More of the story will be seen there and maybe the occasional update on here.
xo
Kayy

Hollow Memories

I watched her as she slipped under. The dark, cold waters engulfed her tiny frail body, and I sat there. I was stunned. I couldn't do anything but look. My little sister, little Caty, taken by the stream. I sat there, scared. I knew there was nothing I could do. She was gone, the stream was moving too fast, the currents ripping and tearing their way down the mountain. I tried not to think about the masses of jagged rocks at the end of the numerous waterfalls. The falls weren't far from here, and I didn't want to see her mangled body fall over the edge. I couldn't do anything. They weren't large falls, but they were big enough..

I sat there, I was ten for Christ's sake, what was I supposed to do? I would see her each time I neared a fall if I ran, and I couldn't bear it. I was shockingly calm enough right now, even if her cries echoed throughout my brain, gaining more and more volume as the small tears fell down from my eyelashes. I looked over to the treacherous stream. The water was crashing against the rocks. A leaf struggled against the current. Just as Caty had. The water seemed serene though, and for whatever reason it calmed me. I slowly dipped my hand into the water, and rescued the tiny little leaf, setting it down carefully as if it were a living being.

I could have saved her. Something in my mind told me I could have. But at the same time, I couldn't have. If I had pulled her out of the water, grasped her tiny little hand, the waters would have taken me in her place. I loved my little sister, but I loved my life more. I didn't, at that time, possess the unconditional, cliche love that I hold now for my Joel. I held a different love. A sisterly love that was somewhat evil. I loved my little sister at times, yet other times, quiet frankly, I hated her. I know my mind back then was warped, so completely warped I don't know how I survived. I just know I did.

I know I sat there, my legs crossed as I drew aimlessly in muddy banks. I know that in my mind I could still hear little Caty's screams, her last cries. I know that what I thought about in those hours I sat there on the forest floor, I can never repeat. Never to any psychologist, whomever I may go to. Never to my Joel. Never to anyone who happens to stumble across this journal, kept under my bed, in that locked safe. I can't even allow myself to think about what was thought in those darkening hours, as the rain poured unmercilessly down into the forests.
Eventually I laid down and fell asleep, my hair sorawled out in the mud. In my slumber, I heard my parents' shrieks as they found Caty's mangled body at the end of the Falls. I heard my mother's cry as she noticed I wasn't home, and I wasn't in the stream with Caty. I heard my father's rifle, calling together the neighbors, and scaring off any bears that may be in the forest. The police cars came from town, and helicopters flew over me. Uncle Roy's yells could be heard for miles, calling my name over and over. And I just laid there, unable to move, in a twilight zone of my own creating-knowing yet not knowing what was going on. I heard the dogs bark as they ran out ahead of the others, on my scent. My dog Sammy had come up and licked my face, waking me from the daze I had settled into. That's when I saw my Joel for the first time. He had come to look for me. He sat me up, and called for the others. My Daddy came picked me up, carrying me down the mountain.

Everyone asked me what had happened. Joel has begged me for years to tell him what I was doing laying in the mud. Why hadn't I come down for help? Momma died soon after Caty's funeral. She couldn't handle her youngest daughter's death and her other daughter's constant vow of silence. I refused to talk for about a year after Caty's death. Eventually I spoke, in small broken sentences. Everyone tells me that time was the most difficult time for my dad, losing his wife and daughter, and then teaching the only person he had to live for anymore learn how to talk again.

I went to every shrink we could, and each time they said I was traumatized by the experience. I don't know if they were right or wrong. I just know that I don't like shrinks. I don't like what they say about me behind my back. I'm terrified of water. Of the liquid hands coming after me next. Sometimes, I wish it were me that had fallen down those waterfalls, that had inhaled the water, been impaled by the jagged rocks.

All I know, is that I don't know anymore. My life has been turned upside down over and over again. And that my soul's wasting away in this hollow shell of a body.

~Elyse




AN: So, I sat here staring at a blank screen and just started typing. The journal entry you just read flowed out. I guess you could say it's based off my story Caty's Creek that I wrote about a month or two back. Everything is completely fictious and for entertainment purposes only. Tell me what you think.