I reflected, how strange… You would never think of going through another’s possessions. Death changes that. Some of mother’s books were — unexpected. Asimov, yes, and Tolkien, but Gore Vidal? How little we know.
I opened the pages of her Bible and pressed flowers she had plucked from her springs and summers wreathed the floor. A secret garden. Inside the cover I found the note and a photograph.
I knew that baby face. I unfolded the yellowed paper and read the faded blue ink.
‘Dear Jon and Elizabeth,
So sorry for your loss. You must cherish the other twin enough for…’
Twin… twin…? Yes, I knew that baby face but it was not mine. The photograph had been cut down the middle. This fragile past divided my being. What had been her name? How long had she lived? Would she still have looked like me? So many questions.
How little we know. My reflections would never be the same again.
Oonah V Joslin lives in Northumberland, England. Winner of the Micro Horror Trophy 2007. Most read in EDF, Jan 2008. Guest judge in the Shine Journal 2008 Poetry Competition. She has had work published in Bewildering Stories, Twisted Tongue 8 & 9, Static Movement, and 13 Human Souls. She has work coming up in The Linnet”s Wings, The Ranfurly Review and Boston Literary Magazine. You can link to work, follow up-dates and contact Oonah at www.writewords.org.uk/oonah/.