The Depth

I grip the books firmly between my fingers as I puff off the dust resting on the shelf's surface. It's nearly as old as forgotten. Only grime and spiderwebs make it useful. Coughing, I search and collect all the stuff from clutters and fine spaces and gather them in the boxes. One is for donation, and the other goes to disposal. Since I no longer find their purpose, it's best to throw them away. Like Mom always says. Underneath the bed, are my works from years ago, during high school, almost crumpled, but still readable. Fine papers. Still have my name written on them. "Alex Chase." I dust every inch of my bedroom floor as an intrusion of rays invades through the windows, illuminating the corners of my room with morning light. No sound disrupts in my ears yet. My sister, Jody must be still and curled in the comforts of her warm sheets. Usually, I hear her raspy voice first thing in the morning. The tone of a crow is what Jody has. Annoying but distinct. Even from the widest of the lake or the depth of the forest, if she opens her mouth, I'll know it's her. Right when I exit my bedroom door, Jody sits on the stairs resting her head between her crossed arms. No sound or movement. Still as the solid concrete surface beneath her. "Hey, What are you doing?" I ask as I join her. "No, nothing," Jody says, "I just had a strange dream." I loop my hands on her back, "What was it about then?" "I can't clearly remember the image." She presses her palms on her forehead. "Only the feeling. Petrified" Jody often is the one who comforts me when I'm having the blues or when I become ill. Quite weirdly, Jody is seventeen yet her soul is older than our Mom's. Some time ago, I contracted the flu so intensely, I could barely escape the bed. Little Jody appeared in my room with chicken soup, and a towel rub to alleviate the burning heat from my body. I sometimes forget that I'm two years older than her since she acts nothing like her age at all. At seventeen, she knows everything there is to know about hunting in the woods and hunting for cash. Several years back, we were little when we discovered the bounties of the woods and what the lake could provide us. It was seventeen-year-old Jody's idea that our hobby of killing fresh meat might be profitable. And she was right. During School days, we go to the lake on the weekends for fish and Birds and sell them at the Market. We sometimes had a massive catch that we could deal with our expenses at school. Mom wasn't bothered and even commended us for it. Ever since Dad died, we were barely surviving and I almost had to quit school because we were on the verge of becoming empty. Luckily, Mom was then offered a job online and thanks to the wilderness, we got back to living again. Now that it's Summer, Jody and I plan to go there more often, hoping we can cover up some of our household expenses, instead of just Mom. Salmons multiply rapidly in last year's winter since it was their season to breed. Summer must surely be packed with its valuable meats. "How about we head on for breakfast, and talk about it," I say. We hurdle to the kitchen downstairs with a difference in mood. Jody is a wilted rose while I'm about to flower. The smell of scrambled eggs and bacon travels through the air, making my appetite scream with excitement, but my sister Jody on my left is less than what I feel. Too less. "Have a seat, the eggs are getting cold," Mom says while mixing her daily dose of caffeine. "What's up with her?" I sit down, "Nightmares." "Was it the falling into an abyss kind or was it like a paralysis?" Mom sits down with us. "No- I'm not quite sure what it was," Jody rubs her neck, "It was more like something was chasing me. Like a shadow." "Yeah, that's called a paralysis. I have those when I feel over-stressed or fatigued. Don't worry about it." Mom says. "Oh, Alex. Don't forget to bring the books to the library after this. Carol's looking forward to it." I feel angst about Jody. The circles around her eyes are light charcoal. Her lips and skin share the same color. Pale. It must have been an excruciating nightmare. The time I had one was so long ago, I can barely remember, but it was something like what Jody said, a shadow. Taking hold of my entire body. Forbidding me from screaming nor the ability to move a muscle. I was petrified. I fix the books in one pile and fit them in a box. Twelve books in total for donation at Winston Library. The nostalgia of school visits as I stretch my fingers on the sides of the books and glance at random pages. I wasn't good at school. I wasn't bad either, but I did love the books when I saw one. Something about their unique scent and array of ink-written words makes my eyes close spontaneously. But these books are different. They don't belong to school. Strangely, they've been on my shelf for several years yet they're foreign to me. Probably because they contain too much fiction more than I can handle. I'd rather spend my time reading facts than letting my mind lose on something imaginary.