My Little Sister

This was originally saved as “klkihlhiyukg.txt” because there didn’t seem to be an appropriate name for it. Then I edited it heavily. Possibly suitable for public consumption now. Thoughts?

Dad had been the one to find the body. It was unexpected – he had gone upstairs to wake her up, thinking she had slept in. It was time for school, and all that.
I don’t think he knew what to do, who to call. It’s not like having a bike stolen.
There was no point calling an ambulance, either.
She’d done it in the middle of the night.
My little sister had been cold for hours before we found her.
And that was my wednesday morning. I had to call mum, because dad was talking to the police. I had to explain that she needed to come home, not at the end of her business trip, but now. Mum and dad hadn’t been talking for a long time, at that point.
They didn’t fix that, after my little sister was cold, either.
I had shut my eyes when the body was carried through on a stretcher, covered in a white plastic sheet.
There was a note, penned by my little sister.
It read, in my little sister’s neatest italics, “Mum, Dad, Ivan.”
I didn’t want to ruin this last memento of my little sister.
“Hi you.” It read. My little sister had written that.
“It’s not you, it’s me.” It read. My little sister always had a wicked sense of humour.
“I love you.” It read. My little sister loved me.
My little sister was dead.



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2 responses to “My Little Sister

  1. cthru

    wow, well done 😀
    the way you display the feelings, by not being dramatic and loud, actually makes it more intence (and sad 😦 😦 😦 )
    keep on with the good work!

  2. JoetheArachnid

    It seems that this was probably not the best thing to calm me down after another university choice-based panic attack. Still brilliantly chilling in its cold and stark evaluation of an emotional situation, though.

    Or something like that.

    I also managed to accidentally read the last line first, which I then thought would ruin the suspense of the piece. It didn’t.

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