When Rain Fell Unseen

Another memory surfaced through the haze. Last month, several girls from school cornered me in a bathroom stall. They shoved the door closed behind me. One of them poured a bottle of cold water over my head.

The shock stole my breath.

Another girl twisted open a tube of lipstick and began drawing thick, ugly lines across my face, adding crooked circles around my eyes.

One of them laughed. "Freak. Ugly bookworm."

Their voices cut like glass.

"Your sister's the one with depression, right? That means you're crazy too."

"Yeah. Your whole family's messed up. No wonder you walk around with that funeral face."

They laughed until boredom took over and left me dripping in the stall.

When I got home, my mother wrinkled her nose the moment I stepped through the door.

"What is that smell?" she said with a frown. "Go wash up. Stella is sensitive to odors."

That was it. There were no questions or concern.

I locked myself in my room and cried until my throat hurt.

Later, my mother knocked and asked what was wrong.

I wiped my face, opened the door a crack, and forced a small smile. "Nothing."

I already knew what would happen if I told them.

If my family learned I was being bullied, the house would become "disharmonious." My sister would spiral. She would scream, cry, and break things. Then the doctor's words would return like a curse hanging over all of us.

Stella couldn't receive any stimulation. Otherwise, her life may be in danger. Those words ruled the house like law.

The darkness tightened around my vision. Somewhere nearby, I heard my father speaking on the phone. "Yes. Stella is having another episode. Right. We're bringing her to the hospital now."

Footsteps rushed past me. No one stopped to ask why I had gone so quiet.

"Rainie! Go get Stella's medication!" my mother called without turning around.

I tried to answer, but my lips would not move.

"Look at her pretending again," my father snapped. "Let's see how long she keeps that act up."

My last clear thought drifted somewhere else entirely.

The day I stood at the door of the art studio, I had packed all my paints and brushes. I placed every tube of color and every pencil inside a locker and sealed it.

My art teacher stared at me in disbelief.

"Why would you quit?" she asked. "You're the most talented student I have."

I kept my head down so she would not see my face.

"The smell of paint gives my sister headaches," I said quietly. "The doctor said she needs a quiet environment."

The dreams I locked inside that cabinet were now dying with me.

In the distance, a siren wailed. It was an ambulance. The sound grew louder as it approached.

"Stella! Hang on!" my mother cried. "The doctor will be here any second!"

Footsteps thundered through the hallway. The door flew open. Fresh air rushed into the apartment and carried away some of the thick smell of blood.

"Where is the patient?" a strange male voice asked.

"Here! Over here!" my father shouted urgently. "My daughter can't take it anymore!"

I wanted someone to look down just once and notice that another daughter lay on the floor, bleeding and waiting.

The paramedics hurried straight to the sofa. They lifted my sister carefully as she thrashed and screamed.

No one looked toward the corner. No one noticed the girl dying on the floor.

"Patients with intracranial bleeding cannot wait..."

Those were the last words I heard before the world collapsed into permanent darkness.

I floated above the living room and looked down at my own body.

Death felt strangely painless, light.

My body still lay where it had fallen. Blood behind my head had dried into a dark patch. My face had turned pale.

The apartment buzzed with chaos. My father stood beside the paramedics and shielded my screaming sister as they rushed for the door. My mother clutched a bottle of medication and hurried after them.

No one looked back. No one glanced at the daughter they had forgotten in the corner of the living room.

"Hurry! The ambulance is waiting!" my father shouted.

My mother slowed and turned her head slightly. "Where's Rainie?"

"Forget about her!" my father barked. "Stella matters more!"

He charged down the stairs with my sister in his arms.

My mother hesitated for only a moment. Then she followed.

The door slammed shut behind them. The impact knocked the family photo off the wall. It struck the floor with a crack, and glass shattered across the empty apartment.

In the photograph, my sister stood in the center. My parents held her on both sides. All three of them were smiling.