Wake up Leonie. Go on, I dare you; stand up today. It’s summer, the sun is idle waiting for you. It doesn’t shine nearly as bright without you around.
Leonie, I bet you look lovely today. The world deserves to catch a glimpse. Beauty isn’t supposed to be locked away in a high tower. People are asking for you, who knew you were so popular!
This is just disappointing Leonie. Such things to do, such a life to live, and you spend it hidden beneath pillows, trying to block me out. You’re being lazy, ungrateful even, what with everything you have. Grow up, you spoilt kid.
Please, Lee? We just want to know you’re still breathing under the blankets. It’s been five days Lee. Have you even eaten? Pa made some cheesecake, raspberry jelly and all. Just come say hi, Lee. I bet it’s messy in there, let me in I’ll tidy.

Okay, I have to go Lee.
Her footsteps splash away like baby waterfalls.

I guess I should thank her for trying her best. Of everyone, she’s been by the most. Mother hasn’t even bothered, Pa tried to break down the door. I don’t even want his cake. I don’t want to eat anything.
The curtains are closed, thin floral fabric projecting the sun Heidi described onto my floor. I remember the day Luna bought it for me. I’d kicked off my shoes and sunk into bed only for her to burst through my door theatrically waving a scroll of fabric. She hung it up while we chatted about her school and my work. That night the moon shimmered right on my pillow; I couldn’t bear to sleep.
I roll over in the present and the memory is drowned out by a hundred more. My mind tries to rake it back from wherever lost thoughts go, but then I remember that my brain doesn’t have hands. What if Luna’s gift is forgotten forever? Maybe some things are better gone.
I lift the covers from my face, letting cool air melt into my skin. Perhaps there’s a reason why I feel weighed down, like I can’t breathe and my heart can’t beat. For five days I’ve been slowly buried by sand and soil, gently falling but building up heavily until I suffocate.
All my body has been able to do is stand – zombie-like – and lap up water to prevent dehydration. I’ve avoided food at all costs, it’s tasteless and makes me vomit. The energy I lost in puking didn’t leave enough to clean it up. The smell is acrid, more so as the hours pass. I haven’t cried yet. Any sneaky tear has been clenched in my fists that are forcing myself not to scream so I don’t wake the baby upstairs. This flat I was once so proud of affording has become my ultimate prison.
Heidi was right. I should eat something, maybe then I’ll feel stronger. Any mention of sweet and salty will only add to the pile of sick, but citrus? An orange?
I keel over again, not bloody oranges. Luna would come home from school every day and carefully peel off the skin with a knife. Then she’d stick it in her mouth and grin with a mouth full of juicy segment and lacy white pith. I only ever ate oranges because Luna begged me to.
They gave me two weeks to mourn. I spent the first seven foul days sitting on Mother’s couch, staring straight ahead at the blank tv. Then there was the funeral. I’m not going to talk about the funeral. Sweaty perfume and crocodile crying and looking at Luna’s moony face, eyes forcibly closed. I left before they buried her, casket slopping over into the grave. I’ve been in my own casket ever since.
I have two days before work wants me back. A few will be ‘sorry for my loss’. There might even be a bouquet on my desk, probably roses, Luna’s nemeses. Then, ach, it’s easy to forget, c’est la vie if you will. Who was Luna Norris again? She will drift into obscurity, sister to two girls who made disappointingly little of their time on earth. One day my grave will lie moss-eaten on the family plot. Heidi, Leonie, Luna. Not, I swear with gritted teeth, before I have another orange.
One foot, out from under the duvet, and then another. Soon my lower body has oozed onto the floor. Hobble over to the counter, drag my aching arm up and over the bowl and inside. My pasty hand, bones jutting, curling around an orange, oily-skinned ball.
I won’t bore you with details of cutting an orange; you know how to do it and if you don’t, maybe you should try because oranges are an important part of life. All that matters is the juice swaying to and fro in my mouth. I clutch the countertop desperately, but it doesn’t stop my feet heaving an unwilling body towards the window, and curtains. My fingers play with the tassel.
Before my brain can comprehend what’s happening and stop the body from doing the absolute unthinkable, doing something I haven’t been able to fathom for two sore weeks. If I open the curtains, I doubt Luna’s florals will ever come back the way they are now, glistening tenderly.
Sunlight bursts into the room, and I can’t stop it. The world outside my window is just how it was before she died. Neon advertisements, bored people, lonely skyscrapers, sun. Heidi was right, it’s a beautiful, beautiful day. My lips form around the stinging, sour segment, and I am smiling, beaming even. I’m also crying, because this ought to be Luna’s morning and she will never see it.
Then again, maybe that’s alright, and maybe I could eat all the oranges in the world until she is resurrected, but I could also go and grab Heidi before her feet splash away forever. Get your shoes Leonie, you’re going to have to run.