I Would Still Die for You
One
She had everything: coolest clothes, best hair, most expensive house, flashiest car. She was perfect in every way: perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect body. Every girl wanted to be at least half as beautiful as she was. Every boy wanted to date her.
She was my sister. Although she looked nothing alike, and she claimed no relation, she was my only sister. She was older than me by a little under two years. She was my best friend outside of school. She was my protector.
That role is what killed her. She died protecting me. She helped me as much as she could as long as her 'friends' were nowhere around. She did whatever I asked. Except for my request of acting like my sister during school, she heeded to my demands.
The day she died dawned beautiful and crisp. She spent half an hour in front of the mirror doing her makeup and hair. I was already waiting for her in the kitchen, nibbling an apple slice. She gave me a quick hug before getting into her little red sportscar, and I watched out the window as she started the ignition and backed out of the driveway. When I finished my diminutive breakfast, I grabbed my bookbag and left the house. As I walked to the local high school, I thought of the odd relationship I had with my sister.
Once I got to the building, the routine of dodging my tormentors began. I spun the dial on my locker and quickly opened the metal compartment, shoving my bag in. I heard a laugh, the fake laugh I knew so well, and turned to watch my sister walk by. I rolled my eyes after she'd turned the corner, and made my way to class. I opened my journal and started writing.
She's my sister. No one knows. But she is. I've lived with her for sixteen years. We share the same bathroom, the same kitchen, the same house. But she's prettier- much prettier. Everyone loves her. No one notices me. I'm just the girl in the shadows. I'm just the girl who everyone pushes to the side so they can worship her. We may live in the same expensive house and have the same beautiful parents, but we share none of the qualities that make her who she is, the traits that make her so well-loved and adored.
Regardless, she's my best friend. At night, when I'm crying alone in my bed, she'll come in and lay with me, talk to me, make sure I'm okay. Sometimes, she turns down invitations from some of the cooler people in school, just so she can hang out with me. Of course, she doesn't tell them about me- no, she gives them some lame excuse. But still. It's the fact that I'm on her list.
I would die for my sister. And, although she doesn't show very often, I know she'd do the same for me.
I had no idea how true those words were. Not at that time. I just continued through my day, a small twisting in my stomach as each second passed, getting tighter until the last bell rang. On my way out of the school, I felt two hands wrapping around my arms. I was dragged to the back parking lot where my captors announced that I was their prey. I heard my sister's voice cutting through their boasting, asking them why they had to pick on defenseless girls who weren't worth their time. They laughed but their grips were unbudging. I stared at the ground, not wanting to raise my head, my eyes to meet my sister's gaze. I knew I would find, in those crystal blue irises, her inner conflict. Her voice was soft, hesitant, when she demanded them to release me. Instead, they shoved me into the back of their car, getting in front. They told my sister to follow close behind in her own vehicle. I remained silent, kept my mouth shut. When the car stopped, I was forced out of the small confines and into the crisp November air. The wind whipped my hair around as I stood on the cold asphalt. I heard the engine of my sister's little red sportscar shut off, and my captors shared a moment of pure laughter and excitement. My sister began pleading, a sick sound I had never heard, seeming so desperate. They ignored her, advancing toward me. I backed away, afraid, yet calm. I knew my sister would save me. She would never have let them hurt me. They kept pushing me further, nearer to the edge of the bridge. In an instant, I saw my sister's pink tanktop flash by before she shoved me out of the way. Before they could comprehend what had happened, they had forced her over the ledge. Time seemed to pass too slowly, almost as if I could reach out and pull my beautiful sister back to her feet. Maybe I had tried. Maybe I had not. The next few moments were a blur.
When I looked over the side, I screamed. My perfect sister lay crumpled on the bottom of the shallow creek. Her hair was spread in an odd way, her eyes wide open. I ran down the muddy banks, wading to her side. Crimson red was spreading from the back of her head, and I continued screaming, trying to get help. Finally, a car stopped, and someone called an ambulance. I felt my sister's pale cheek, the cold icier than the water surrounding my calves and thighs as I knelt beside the beautiful angel, so helpless from the fall, so tragic from the way it ended. The way her life ended.
She had just turned eighteen-years-old. The day she died was the day she would have gotten her college letter, telling her she was accepted into Princeton. The day she died was the day she would have gotten her very first paycheck in the mail. The day she died was the day she would have celebrated her eighteenth birthday.
-♥-
Now here I kneel, in front of my beautiful sister's gravestone, ten years later. The guilt now is as freash as it was then. No one deserves to die that young. I trace the letters on the frozen marble, an old journal entry ringing in my ears: I would die for my sister. And, although she doesn't show it very often, I know she'd do the same for me.
She was my sister. Although she looked nothing alike, and she claimed no relation, she was my only sister. She was older than me by a little under two years. She was my best friend outside of school. She was my protector.
That role is what killed her. She died protecting me. She helped me as much as she could as long as her 'friends' were nowhere around. She did whatever I asked. Except for my request of acting like my sister during school, she heeded to my demands.
The day she died dawned beautiful and crisp. She spent half an hour in front of the mirror doing her makeup and hair. I was already waiting for her in the kitchen, nibbling an apple slice. She gave me a quick hug before getting into her little red sportscar, and I watched out the window as she started the ignition and backed out of the driveway. When I finished my diminutive breakfast, I grabbed my bookbag and left the house. As I walked to the local high school, I thought of the odd relationship I had with my sister.
Once I got to the building, the routine of dodging my tormentors began. I spun the dial on my locker and quickly opened the metal compartment, shoving my bag in. I heard a laugh, the fake laugh I knew so well, and turned to watch my sister walk by. I rolled my eyes after she'd turned the corner, and made my way to class. I opened my journal and started writing.
She's my sister. No one knows. But she is. I've lived with her for sixteen years. We share the same bathroom, the same kitchen, the same house. But she's prettier- much prettier. Everyone loves her. No one notices me. I'm just the girl in the shadows. I'm just the girl who everyone pushes to the side so they can worship her. We may live in the same expensive house and have the same beautiful parents, but we share none of the qualities that make her who she is, the traits that make her so well-loved and adored.
Regardless, she's my best friend. At night, when I'm crying alone in my bed, she'll come in and lay with me, talk to me, make sure I'm okay. Sometimes, she turns down invitations from some of the cooler people in school, just so she can hang out with me. Of course, she doesn't tell them about me- no, she gives them some lame excuse. But still. It's the fact that I'm on her list.
I would die for my sister. And, although she doesn't show very often, I know she'd do the same for me.
I had no idea how true those words were. Not at that time. I just continued through my day, a small twisting in my stomach as each second passed, getting tighter until the last bell rang. On my way out of the school, I felt two hands wrapping around my arms. I was dragged to the back parking lot where my captors announced that I was their prey. I heard my sister's voice cutting through their boasting, asking them why they had to pick on defenseless girls who weren't worth their time. They laughed but their grips were unbudging. I stared at the ground, not wanting to raise my head, my eyes to meet my sister's gaze. I knew I would find, in those crystal blue irises, her inner conflict. Her voice was soft, hesitant, when she demanded them to release me. Instead, they shoved me into the back of their car, getting in front. They told my sister to follow close behind in her own vehicle. I remained silent, kept my mouth shut. When the car stopped, I was forced out of the small confines and into the crisp November air. The wind whipped my hair around as I stood on the cold asphalt. I heard the engine of my sister's little red sportscar shut off, and my captors shared a moment of pure laughter and excitement. My sister began pleading, a sick sound I had never heard, seeming so desperate. They ignored her, advancing toward me. I backed away, afraid, yet calm. I knew my sister would save me. She would never have let them hurt me. They kept pushing me further, nearer to the edge of the bridge. In an instant, I saw my sister's pink tanktop flash by before she shoved me out of the way. Before they could comprehend what had happened, they had forced her over the ledge. Time seemed to pass too slowly, almost as if I could reach out and pull my beautiful sister back to her feet. Maybe I had tried. Maybe I had not. The next few moments were a blur.
When I looked over the side, I screamed. My perfect sister lay crumpled on the bottom of the shallow creek. Her hair was spread in an odd way, her eyes wide open. I ran down the muddy banks, wading to her side. Crimson red was spreading from the back of her head, and I continued screaming, trying to get help. Finally, a car stopped, and someone called an ambulance. I felt my sister's pale cheek, the cold icier than the water surrounding my calves and thighs as I knelt beside the beautiful angel, so helpless from the fall, so tragic from the way it ended. The way her life ended.
She had just turned eighteen-years-old. The day she died was the day she would have gotten her college letter, telling her she was accepted into Princeton. The day she died was the day she would have gotten her very first paycheck in the mail. The day she died was the day she would have celebrated her eighteenth birthday.
-♥-
Now here I kneel, in front of my beautiful sister's gravestone, ten years later. The guilt now is as freash as it was then. No one deserves to die that young. I trace the letters on the frozen marble, an old journal entry ringing in my ears: I would die for my sister. And, although she doesn't show it very often, I know she'd do the same for me.