Burnt Feathers! Preface and Chapter one

Preface

A harsh gust of wind rattled through the trees the dawn of October 25th; a consoling wind that whispered sweet nothings into the ears of mourners. To Ayame, however, it told a different tale, a tale of things to come, of anticipation. This was the beginning of a new chapter of her life. Today, October 25th, was her fathers funeral. He had been found a week ago at their cozy cypress home, his spinal cord broken in two. Not a fingerprint or weapon could be found anywhere. Nothing in the house was unusual.

“Except for my father’s dead body,” She thought to herself. “Cops are useless.”

Ayame had gotten out of bed that morning with some reluctance. The last thing she wanted to do was attend a funeral, since it only made losing him harder. Now that he was gone, Ayame had no one. Her mother had killed herself eight years ago, Ayame had been 10 years old at the time, and her big sister, Aki, at age 17, had run away only a month later. Of course, Aki had returned 5 years ago, but the three years she was gone had added a huge emotional distance between the two siblings. When Ayame had felt abandoned, her father was there for her, to tell her otherwise. He had taught her to be herself and follow her heart, no matter what anyone else said. She would need that lesson most of all right now. Her family was pressuring her into college, into things she didn’t want. Since she had graduated high school with honors, it apparently meant if she wanted to be anything other than the president or a scientist, it was a waste of her mind. Because of this, even with a family, she felt more alone then ever.  Still, she couldn’t lose sight of herself and her wants. She would have to be strong; for her father.

Now it was the time of the funeral. They were a little outside of Cypress, now, a wide field in the countryside of Texas. Trees surrounded them in all directions and a small lake, her father’s favorite fishing spot, stretched out behind the podium. Standing beside the podium was a short, chubby man with a rosy face. He was waiting for the seats, metal foldable chairs, to be filled before he began the service. Before him was a silver jar, filled with her father’s ashes, soon to be scattered into the lake beyond. He had made no will, but everyone agreed that this was how he would’ve wanted it.

Aki sat down next to Ayame several minutes before the preacher would start the service. She was wearing a black dress that stopped at her knees and had thick straps, along with a black veil and black high heels. Her hay blonde hair was pulled back into loose bun. She looked stunning compared to Ayame who had only an old sleeved dress that was much too long for her, thrown together with her favorite combat boots; Her short black hair was limp, partly covering her face. Since Aki was a journalist, she always looked professional and organized, much unlike the goal-less Ayame’s clumsy awkwardness. Sometimes, it was hard to believe they were even sisters.

Looking over at Ayame, Aki whispered solemnly to her sibling, “How’re you holding up?”

“Our father is dead.” Ayame responded swiftly, keeping her eyes focused on the preacher. She didn’t want to cry in public.

Aki was quiet for a moment, and then changed the subject, “So where are you staying?”

“Grandma and Grandpa’s,” Ayame said with a sigh. She hated it there. They didn’t know anything about her, and their house smelt like kitty litter.

“Oh, because I was thinking…maybe, you could stay with me?” Aki didn’t leave room for her sister to answer, instead trying to persuade her to agree. “I mean, I have this huge apartment, and I’d really like to have company. You wouldn’t have to do anything, just whatever you want and…”

Ayame interrupted “Aki…” But before Ayame could go on any further, the preacher began the service.

In Ayame’s opinion, the service was filled with nothing but gaping mouths and empty minds. People who had no idea what her father was like at all. “Charles”, they called him. Anyone who had ever spent five minutes with the man would’ve known he preferred to be called “Charlie”. She regretted even coming. She skipped out on throwing his ashes into the lake and instead stayed settled into her same seat, reminiscing about her father. Aki didn’t move either. Ayame knew she was crying.

Suddenly, Aki grabbed her sister’s arm, pulling her so that they faced each other. Tears were spilling over Aki’s soft dark-blue eyes, the green tinge in them more bright than ever. “Please come with me, Ayaa. It’s a sad feeling…when you’re alone.”

Ayame couldn’t help feeling a little sympathy. She still wasn’t going to be close with her sister, but, her apartment would be better than her grandparent’s cramped home. The expression on Ayame’s face must have seemed accepting, because, at that moment, Aki pulled her into a tight embrace, keeping Ayame in her suffocating grip till long after the service had ended.




Chapter one: Less than cheerful Homecoming.

“Excuse me, ladies.” The rosy-cheeked pastor tapped Ayame’s shoulder lightly, an apologetic smile spread wide across his glistening face. Somewhat awkwardly, the two sisters let their once intertwined arms fall to their sides. Hastily, they got to their feet, making room for the preacher to fold up and carry away the metal chairs.  Ayame realized, with embarrassment, that they were the only ones still there, and their chairs had been the last to have been taken away. The preacher must’ve not wanted to interrupt them.

“So,” Aki disrupted her thoughts, “Are you going to go back to the house to pick up your stuff?”

She was talking about their dad’s house, of course. “I guess.” Ayame threw out indifferently.

“Do you want me to--?”

“No.” Ayame already knew what she was going to ask. While she seemed to be calm and collected, on the inside Ayame felt chaotic. She didn’t want anyone around when went to get her belongings.

“Okay, then.” Aki fidgeted, slightly hurt by the sharp response, “Let me get you my address. You can print out the directions on the computer at Dad’s.”

Aki headed towards her car, heels tapping in the dirt, and Ayame followed. They came to a cute red convertible, and, after swinging the door open, Aki plopped down on one of the leather seats. She rummaged through the middle console for a minute before retrieving a pen and a scrap of paper. Slowly, in her flowing, feminine script, Aki wrote out her address. Finally she gave Ayame the scrap. Aki shut her door and stuck her head out the window.

“Be safe.” Was all she said. She then proceeded to roll up her window and start the engine. With a low growl the car sped off down a narrow dirt road.

Sighing, Ayame walked to the two other cars there, parked side by side. One was a hefty white mini-van, the other a plain, but sleek, black car.  The one on the right, the black car, was hers. Her father had bought it for her last birthday.

Pulling out her keys, Ayame walked to the door of her car. As she turned the key in the lock, however, a voice halted her movement. Ayame turned around to see the preacher leaning across the passenger seat of his hulky van. His window was rolled down and his plump right hand hanging over the car.

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He had a pleasant, hearty voice. It was low and deep but with a bright tone of jubilation constantly alive in it.

“Of course,” She replied politely, stopping her key mid-turn, and drawing it back into her palm.

“I am very sorry for your loss, but might I make a suggestion?” The preacher’s face, usually set in a joyous smile, was stony and pensive. He didn’t wait for an answer. “This was no ordinary death. There are worse things than suicides and murderers.

“The guilty favor a position of utmost innocence. I would also keep a close watch on that sister of yours.” The preacher’s face broke out in smile once again and he finished, “May the lord be with you.” The window rolled up slowly and the preacher leaned back into his seat, started the hulking white van and drove off, smoke trailing from his tail pipe.

Ayame was awe struck. How much more stressful could one day get? With a weary sigh, Ayame resumed opening her door. Once unlocked, she shut the door firmly behind her and started the engine. Not wanting to think much on the tiresome events of the day, she fed a CD to her radio and turned the volume recklessly high. Shattering beats reverberated through the car and shook it’s frame.

The car jumped into motion as she hit the gas pedal with more force than intended. Soon, the car was bouncing down a pockmarked dirt road.

One loud hour later, Ayame was pulling up to her old home. In the very middle of the neat, paved lane titled “Country rose” was her house. She pulled the car into the driveway and got out. The brick was a faded stone grey, and the roof a dark hue of bluish black. As she loped down the cement walkway, she ran her fingers over the cold brass numbers that indicated the address. She was going to miss living here. Gliding past the bright flower garden, Ayame reached the leaded glass door. With a heave of breath, she opened it slowly.

The house was the same as it had always been. The furnishings were all in earthy tones, making the house seem very inviting. Wanting to leave as soon as possible, she turned into the first hallway off of the entrance. In the hallway there were a trio of doors; one lead to a guest bedroom, one lead to a bathroom, while the furthest door lead to her room.

Her room was complete in tones in red, black, and white; the complete opposite of the rest of the house. Her furnishings were usually metallic and piled with useless things Ayame would never get rid of. Therefore, it was quite a task when, after only an hour, she managed to pack all of it (well, cram all of it) into her car.

She came in one last time to look around her now white box of a room. She walked to the window and peered outside behind the wooden blinds. To her dismay, several cars were pulling up to the house and various people from the funeral were walking out of them. She didn’t want to see them ransack her house. Dropping the blind, Ayame turned to the door, but stopped.

On the floor, looking conspicuous, were two feathers. She was sure they hadn’t been there before. Bending down, she picked up and examined the feathers. One was black, like that of a crow’s, and one was swan white, though oddly burned. Though slightly perturbed, she picked up the feathers, keeping them in her hand, since her dress had no pockets.

Hurriedly, Ayame ambled out of her bedroom and through the front door. A pair of laughing women passed her on their way into the house; her house. Feeling sick, Ayame fumbled with her car keys several minutes until she could unlock the door. She shut the door softly behind her and drove as far as she could without being sick. She ended up parking by a creek she had played in during her childhood. She waited several minutes before the sickness had passed. People laughing, coming to take her dead fathers things; she didn’t think she could bear it. Of course, he hadn’t written a will, but you’d think people would have more dignity.

Ayame ended that particular train of thoughts. She didn’t want to feel sick again. Trying to focus on something else, Ayame lifted her palm to her face. The two feathers were still stuck to her palm. She wondered vaguely how they had gotten in her house before driving away. It was quite awhile, however, before she realized she had forgotten to print out directions.