Young Writers Society

I woke up in my bed that day. The day everything went wrong, and stayed that way.

That was two years ago.

I woke up happy, my life perfectly in place up until then. Getting out of bed, I put on a blue hoodie, jeans and white socks, before walking out of my bedroom and down to the living room combined with a kitchen. I said good morning to my sister, which I assumed was there in the room with me, but she didn't answer. It's not that she wasn't there, no, rather the fact that she was lying on the floor, a hole in her heart, a knife beside her, and blood splattered all over her clothes and the floor. Her light brown hair was lying on the floor, full of blood, and her green eyes was staring distantly at the ceiling.

I couldn't get a word out. I just stood there, watching my sister on the floor, hoping that someone would come out from somewhere and shout "Surprise!" or something, that it was some kind of sick joke they had all planned for my birthday, which by a horrible coincidence was on that day.

Nothing happened.

I stood there for two days straight, not eating, not sleeping, hardly blinking. All star, the song from the band called Smash Mouth, often rang in the room. The music was most likely coming from my phone, since that was my ringtone, but I made no attempt to pick it up. The song brought me into reality for a few seconds, making me overflow with emotion, but before I could manage to cry, reality slipped away, and I fell into the state of nothingness once again.

Why bother, what's the point?

I didn't even have to think it, it was just like it was written into my brain. It has been, ever since.

Then, someone finally came over to see how we were doing, since neither my sister or me had gone to school. It was my brother who came, who was two years younger than me, barely fifteen, and he witnessed me just standing there, staring at my dead sisters body, and not resurfacing from my dreamlike state when he was shaking me.

Screaming, crying, begging me to talk to him, hugging my sister, sobbing into her shoulder. An hour later, some part of me woke up and hugged him. He stayed there that night. I carried him into my bed, and we slept there togheter, hugging each other. I made him breakfast the next morning.

I gently picked my sister off the floor and carried her into her own bed, closed her eyes, bandaged her wound, and drew her blanket over her.

It looked like she was sleeping, like she had no worries. She probably didn't, not anymore at least. I went back down. Soft morning light came flooding through the windows as I cleaned up the blood and removed the knife. Then, putting on the best smile I could manage, I took his breakfast up to my room and woke him up.

"What am I doing here? What day is it?"

He didn't remember, and I wasn't going to tell him. I wanted to, but I couldn't. The words wouldn't come out.

"I had a horrible nightmare. Mia was dead, and you wouldn't talk to me."

I didn't answer, just smiled a faint smile, and gave him his food. I hugged him before I went down again, and he smiled back at me. I called my mom. The conversation went something like this:

"Summer here. Who's this?"

"She's dead."

"What? Keona, is that you? Who is dead? Are you okay?

"Mia."

She hung up. An hour later, I had sent my brother to school, telling him that I wasn't feeling well. Then my mother, running into the house, began yelling at me.

"Where is she? Where is Mia? WHERE IS SHE?" She began shaking me, and when I didn't answer, she ran upstairs, blasted open the door and screamed my sister's name. There was no response. "MIA! MIA! WAKE UP! MIA! MIA!"

Then, she stopped, her mind making a connection, a connection which was going to follow me forever. She came downstairs.

"You killed her. You killed her. YOU KILLED YOUR SISTER."

I couldn't speak. I didn't want to either. It was better for her to concentrate all her emotion in one place, I knew that. She began hitting, kicking, crying, screaming, destroying my house in the process. If this continued, she would kill me. I know she would have done that. She was so blinded by hate that she didn't see her own daughter. Instead, she saw a murderer. She was about to throw one of my plates on my head, when, right there, I made a choice. I somehow managed to kick her in the head, making her unconcious, and the plate falling down with her, smashing by the impact. I ran up to my room, took my backpack, packed a change of chlothes, my toothbrush, my hairbrush, some hairties, all my savings, and then ran to Mia's room. I took her money too. Then, as a final goodbye, I kissed her on the cheek, whispering into her ear that I love her. Then, I hurriedly put on my shoes, glanced one last time over the happy home it once was,

and ran.