Raindrops of Thinking

  — by Blue I would always see her portrait hanging just above the corner of the staircase that connected the upper and lower parts of the house. That staircase acted like a gateway or the divide between heaven and hell, and her face the gatekeeper with the eyes that could see anyone—everyone. She was always there, and I always aware.  I could not remember when the first time that portrait of hers were hanged inside the house. Perhaps it has always been there, long before I was born. I'm not sure. All I know is that one day, it was there and I could see her.  Her name was something I should've remembered but I couldn't bring myself to. It brought me nightmares in bed that my mind chose to bury it away out of my reach.  Her hair is raven black, her skin pale as sickly white. She was lean and she had a cat resting on her bony left arm. The scaly fingers of her right hand caressed the fur of the mischievous creature. Her eyes, they were the emptiest orbs I have ever seen, so e