www.whyville.net Jun 26, 2011 Weekly Issue

Times Writer

Bleak: Part 3

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The night was uncomfortable and long. I cried - I hadn't done that in who knew how long. Pain just didn't affect me anymore . . . I wasn't sure why the attacks that brought this entire thing on could hurt me again. I figured I'd moved on, but I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed all night for my losses.

No, not loss. I didn't cry for loss.

I cried out of jealousy.

I figured I would check if we could get out of that awful cabinet when morning crept up. I crawled out into the light room of our home, my eyes searching. A couple of newspapers hung over our windows. Marjory had put them there years ago, claiming she wanted the house to be 'pretty'. I didn't feel like explaining that 'pretty' could no longer be fairly used in our vocabulary.

I peeked my head out of the door momentarily, holding my breath. Toxic fumes would kill me, but the cleanup crew had already left. It was safe. I smiled to myself, slightly, then went back to the cabinet. I reached in and grabbed my sister's ankle. It was cold. Weird, I thought, Marjory was never cold. Never. My heart skipped a few beats, but I insisted to calm down. It was fine, she was fine.

"Marjory." I said, a little panicky. "Marjory!" She wasn't a heavy sleeper. A pin drop would wake her up. Now, my frantic voice didn't even stir her. "MARJORY!" I shrieked, my voice breaking midway between 'Arr' and 'Jor' in her name. "Please." I whispered, crawling all the way inside. I shook my sister's pale body, she was stiff. It's from the floor, surely. Sleeping on the floor was never comfortable. She was just stiff from the floor.

I knew I was lying to myself, that it'd be stupid to get my hopes up, but I did anyways. I could not be alone in this world. My existence was based solely off of her. Nothing else.

Slowly, I pulled her out of the cabinet. Her death bed. Shaking, but no tears coming, I turned her over.

Those rust eyes . . . they were no longer rust. Glazed, yes. Death had most definitely claimed her. What made me spin around and vomit was not because she was dead.

But because Death had returned her life.

My head spinning, I turned back to see her beautiful green eyes. The color they had used to be. Beautiful and deep. Beautiful. It was the first time I'd ever used that word since that horrible attack. It spun through my mind over and over and over again until nothing existed except those glazed, green eyes and beauty.

I took her out to my yard, by a tree that was a mere stick now. I laid her down, having no shovel or other tool to dig a hole. I looked around. Humans with all sorts of deformities meandered through the area, just a bunch of dirt now. I sat by my sister, holding her hand, watching these people . . .

When it hit me.

I didn't want to - no, I couldn't - die. I'd always thought I did, but in all reality, I'd just wanted escape from the awful memories. Marjory, I noticed, was the cause of those awful memories. She'd endured them with me. Now, I was free. Her death not only released her, but me.

I stood, letting her arm drop with a thunk on a rock. Determination flowed inside of me, filling me with warmth.

I would live. Not for me, but for my sister, my family, my friends, my love.

I would live for those who didn't have the chance.


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