Chapter Two of Under The Toran Tree

Florian lie in bed looking at the ceiling; blankly.  She’d been diagnosed as a “mystery”, “unknown”, “puzzling”, “hopeless”, and “strange”. The doctors had been extremely blunt and to Florian life seemed hopeless, hopeless indeed.

Brilliana stood in Florian’s doorway staring at Florian’s small figure, tucked in bed. Florian in turn stared at Brilliana. Brilliana was crying, Florian seemed vacant. Quite the pair they made now.

Florian turned her gaze to the ceiling and murmured, “Twelve good years I’ve had on earth. Twelve marvelous years we’ve had together. Sadly there won’t be more.”

“There will be more! How can you lose hope so easily?” Brilliana asked.

“If I give you, us, any hope we will be heart-broken when death strikes. Better not get our hopes up.” Florian replied.

Brilliana was outraged by her sister, outraged with the doctors, outraged with herself, whose hope was dwindling despite how much she wanted it to stay.

“I will always have hope! There is nothing you can do about that! Nothing can make me lose hope, not even death. Even if he was able to steal away your hope, he will never touch mine!” Brilliana sobbed.

Florian looked back to Brilliana, there was a tear sliding down her cheek, “I’ve tried, I’ve tried.” she murmured.

Brilliana ran from the room. Tears poured from her eyes, tears ran down her face, tears spread over her dress, tears filled her steps, tears, tears; and more tears.

She ran to her room and threw herself atop her bed. She cried until her pillow was soaked and then she rolled over and looked at the pale blue wallpaper around her. It matched her mood perfectly; worn, flat, sad, and seemingly lonely.

Weeks passed and Florian’s condition didn’t worsen but didn’t improve either. She was pale and skinny. She never left her room. Doctors would come and then they would go. They knew so little about Florian’s illness that they prevented everyone from touching her. If you entered the room you’d be required to wear a mask over your nose and mouth.

The house, along with its occupants, was under the magical spell of depression.

“Florian! How well you look!” Brilliana would say when she entered her sister’s room, trying to be as cheerful as possible. Florian would attempt to smile but suffer a sudden spasm of pain.                                     

“I’m going to read to you today! Guess what book I’m reading to you.” Florian would guess a book, and Brilliana would read and just when they would get to the exciting parts a doctor would shoo Brilliana away, saying, “It’s time for your sister to get some rest!”

        One morning, August 25 to be exact, Brilliana woke to her mother, Oriana, hugging and kissing her, sobbing into her shoulder. “Mother! She’s going to live! Isn’t she?” asked Brilliana, her hope grew to the size of an elephant.

“No, Brilliana, she’s going to die.”