I stared at the path. I blinked, regaining my presence and glanced backward to make sure that Beau or Luke hadn’t followed me. There was no one there. I knew that walking down the dirt path would cause more memories so I continued down the correct path.


There it was. My house, right in front of me waiting for someone to enter it, although, the door was ajar and I realised that mum probably hadn’t left the house since I left, although that wasn’t unusual for her.

I walked up the path slowly. I pushed the door fully open to reveal a dark and dusty house. The usually red carpet in the lounge room was a dusty, stained brown colour and there was a stench of alcohol in the air. I sighed. I knew what this was.

When our father died, mum lapsed into a silent place where she drank all the time, expecting me and Ali to supply her alcohol and she slept all day. I don’t know what happened, but one day, a grandma of ours who lived in Connecticut flew over and stayed with her for the day.

After that, mum got a new job and changed completely. But she always stayed home. The only times she had gone out was to the gym, to Ali’s funeral and to get certain items from Coles and Woolworths. Now, it looked like she had relapsed into that place.

If only she knew what it was like for me.

“Mum?” I called. There was a groan from the kitchen. I was prepared for most things, already having called my sisters name and then finding her dead.

“Ali? Dear me I must be really drunk, usually you only come into my dreams and remind me of happier times.” She hummed a few bars of the Lion King theme song and I sighed. I looked at her and brought a tea towel down to her mouth. She grabbed it and wiped her mouth. Then she pulled me down to her for a hug. “Ali, I miss you so much.”

She opened her eyes and then looked into my eyes with a certain spark in hers. The spark dulled when she saw my blue eyes.

“Oh, it’s you.” She said harshly. It was like she took a brand from the fireplace (if we had one) and shoved it into my heart. I felt the metaphorical fire die as she stood up and embraced me again. I didn’t embrace her back. “You want shelter? Go to a homeless shelter.” She slurred. I gaped at her.

“Why would you say something like that?” I asked her. She looked down at me and put a hand through her hair.

“I’m selling the house. I’m going to Connecticut to live with your grandma. You can either come or stay with one of those ugly little friends you always talk to. Little Ali loved it in Connecticut.” She crooned, stroking a little heart necklace that she had on. She opened the heart necklace and I saw a picture of a little Ali. I frowned and bit my lip, wondering why she didn’t have one of me.

“But…..” I argued without any real argument behind me.

“Don’t complain- it’s not like you even remembered your Daddy. Shut up, get your stuff out or help me pack.” She snarled. I was taken aback and I stepped back from her.

“I came to apologise, but sure. I’ll get my stuff and go.” I muttered. She smiled sickly at me and I ran up the stairs one at a time.

I could never get the hang of going up stairs two at a time. Ali could, but I couldn’t.

I fished around upstairs for a suitcase or two, but I could only find a spare one of Ali’s. It seemed like I had nothing anymore and the only stuff left was Ali’s. It made me remember of all the times that we shared.

I looked at Ali’s clothes, all folded up and nice, turned to mine and shoved most of them in the suitcase.

I looked up at Ali’s bed and blinked the tears away. I couldn’t believe that I was actually leaving for good this time.

I sat down on my bed which was still really neat and folded myself up on the bed to pull myself into my last memory. I said a silent sorry to Ali for immersing myself into this memory. I was quite certain that she would be in this memory. If I could have something that triggered this memory, I would have been in it all the time. I wish I could have seen this memory more. But sometimes, the happiest memories were the hardest to come by.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander into the memory.

The End

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