"The Beauty that Remains" - Short Story Entry

Someone was knocking at the door. Mariel quickly rose to her feet from the living room sofa while wiping away tears from her scarlet cheeks. Not many folks came by since her youngest daughter's funeral. Mariel supposed people had since moved on from that tragic day, given that it occurred nearly two years ago in the past. Hell, even her former husband was now practically engaged to some waitress working at a local sushi bar, going so far as to live together in a fancy ocean-side condominium with perfect views of the sunset. But in Mariel's case, she couldn't help but sulk through the remainder of her life in a putrid shadow of grief, gazing at old yearbook photos and prized trophies her daughter won at gymnastic meets before crying herself to sleep. She tried therapists, self-help books, and even one confessional booth with a priest who seemed lonelier than her. There was simply no hope.

Mariel strongly doubted that whoever was behind the door would be the guardian angel she'd been searching for. Just wait for them to go away, she thought. Nothing good ever comes from a solicitor, whether they're selling magazine subscriptions or a new way of life. But this particular individual seemed insistent on letting themselves in. Three polite knocks turned into an unwelcome banging of fists against the solid oak door. Mariel paced to the entryway slowly as the sky began to rumble outside. Rain would follow soon after, and Lord knows what else she could expect. Could it be the man who took away the life of her precious daughter Taylor, leaving her to rot in a barren ditch along an abandoned freeway? The asshole had never been caught, after all. Perhaps that was part of the reason Mariel locked herself in each day, out of fear this strange, demented individual would seek his revenge on her for whatever reason. Yet deep down she knew there was more to it than that.

She stared through the crescent-shaped window on the door but was unable to make out any image. The air was still at this hour due to summer humidity and a storm on the horizon, which meant a thick fog would settle in and cast everything with an ominous glow. Mariel opened the door just enough so that the chain was still held in place. With one sweaty palm resting firmly on the doorknob, Mariel took in the bleakness of the outside world to greet her mysterious visitor. What she discovered left her frozen in place to the point of suffocation, a reminder of beautiful things left behind well after evilness has made its indelible mark.

It wasn't the face of mass murderer coming to introduce himself to Mariel on that fateful evening. In fact, not so much as a soul was present on her porch despite the incessant knocking less than a minute ago. Yet Mariel's eyes were filled with both fear and awe as she glanced down at what lay on the porch before her. It was her daughter Taylor's jewelry box from when she was just a little girl, painted bright pink and embroidered with plastic silver diamonds. Could someone have snuck in to Taylor's locked bedroom and stolen this box at some point, only to return it back to Mariel's home for some strange reason? The last time Mariel, or anyone for that matter, stepped foot in Taylor's bedroom was on the day of her funeral, yet to her knowledge nothing at all was tampered with. Ever since then, her room at the end of the hall remained locked in order to preserve some lasting memory of Taylor, although truthfully it's presence has brought about nothing but a sense of endless dread that permeates throughout the entire household.

Mariel opened the door fully and leaned down to pick up the jewelry box. A golden key was already placed in a hole on the front of the object, as though it was beckoning to be opened by her that very instant. Well, she thought, there could be something terrible inside this little box, but think of the nightmares you'll have dreaming about what could've been concealed if you just throw it away? Without taking more time to think it over, Marianne turned the key with one swift motion and opened the box. She gazed inside as the rain began to pour down in a gentle, rhythmic flow. A yellow dandelion, Taylor's favorites flower, sat atop a picture of Mariel and her daughter in an open field surrounded by nature. Below this dreamlike image was one simple phrase: Beauty Still Remains. At that moment Taylor stared up at the darkening clouds with a long overdue smile, knowing that someone out there was and perhaps always had been watching over her.