Nomathemba
(Mother of Hope)

Rain is pouring, leaving no space untouched, nothing dry. Soil is drenched, the air humid, water clinging to everything, running down leaves and pooling on the ground.

Small rivulets of water follow gravity and the slight slope.

Despite the weather, there are people around - not many, but some. Those for who it is important to be here, those who can’t - won’t - let go.

Those few who are there are scattered all over the grounds, making it seem as though there is no one but them.

There is an edge to the man who stands in front of the grave, a quiet contemplativeness - an imbalance and something close to uncertainty. He has no protection against the rain, the water long since having drenched him, wet hair plastered against his forehead and water running into his eyes. He doesn’t try to blink it away, his eyes entirely focused on the grave stone: 

Parker
Catherine

~~~~~~~

She sees him from afar, feels anger rising sharply in her. He has no right - no right at all - to be here. He doesn’t belong here and it’s not his place to… do what? Mourn? He’s not capable of mourning. He’s not capable of feeling anything.

His being here is just wrong, in so many ways.

His presence is disgusting and this grave is no place she wants him close to. He’s not part of the family, even if blood may prove different. She doesn’t care about blood.

Her steps quicken, grass squishing under her weight, mud covering her shoes. She doesn’t care, her focus on him - he, who shouldn’t be here:

Brother, twin, (maniac, psycho, murderer, cannibal) Lyle

~~~~~~~

There’s anger in both their postures; for her it’s only anger, but for him, there’s also desolation.

He can feel the waves of anger coming from her, tearing through him, coupling with the pain coming from her.

She steps between the other and the grave, as if to shield a person - a person who isn’t even laying in that particular grave - long since dead from someone who can never be a threat to that person, worlds separating them.

He sees him step back, frowns when anger takes over and the man stars yelling.

He doesn’t know what to do when she steps back, can see worry and caution creeping into her posture just before she takes out her gun.

It seems to be enough to make the other pause, hesitate for a moment when the anger subsides and he turns around and leaves.

He doesn’t care about him for the moment, focuses on her instead:

His half-sister.

~~~~~~~

The whispers start only moments later; insistent, urging, arguing. He grimaces and holds his head between his hands.

It’s hard to get a handle on the silent noise in his head - noise only he can hear. It’s hard to understand them when they talk at the same time, voices jumbling together. He listens to the battle and keeps an eye on the woman standing in front of the grave.

He wonders if she hears them too.

~~~~~~~

The outburst had startled her, words like wanting to kill you not a good thing when coming from her twin - he could mean them, and wouldn’t have any remorse in carrying them out.

She had watched him leave before turning back to the grave. As soon as his presence had faded, the whispers had grown louder, her voice prominent and adamant.

What she urges her to do is the last thing she wants to do though.

She would keep as much distance between her demented twin and herself instead of moving closer like she urges her to.

The whispers are adamant, demanding, and she knows there won’t be silence for a long time, knows when they are this insistent, they rarely leave unless she caves. It’s no different this time, her voice clear and loud and adamant at not letting him slip away.

In the end, she caves, leaves the grave behind in hopes of having the intensity of voices at least lower. They do, quieting down the further she walks away - or, as it seems, the closer she comes to who she would like very much to avoid when she sees him at the car.

His posture is strange, defeat and desolation radiating from him and it’s strange, foreign, so unlike Lyle. He doesn’t hear when she speaks, or he ignores her. Who knows?

She’s forced to reach out and make contact, voices getting louder again, urging on. She’s still prepared to protect herself if necessary.

~~~~~~~

The rain hasn’t stopped, is still pouring - dripping from bushes and splattering on the pavement, creating puddles where the ground is uneven and leaves room to pool. 

Rivulets of water chasing each other down the sidewalk.

The rain is forgotten as they stand face to face, seemingly the only ones daring to challenge the weather. There are others, but the two of them are the only ones standing around in front of his car, ignoring their surroundings.

They exchange few words but they seem to have effect on both of them. His posture changes as he watches her leave; a slight straightening of his shoulders that takes the desolate edge away, seemingly allowing him to breathe easier.

There’s a small smile on his lips as he reaches up to brush the hair back from his forehead before he opens the door and slides into his car.

Uhm… yes… End