It was just something that you erase from the cache of your brain. Something that you didn’t think about because it was just so—


I stood by the side when attending your wake. Because I was the little sister you’d rather do without. Because I was the little sister you detested with all your heart. Because I was the little sister that embarrassed you so, so much.

And the little sister who killed you.

Do you know how much it had cost me to just look at you suffocate, turn blue and then pale as death claim you as its own?

You were the sane to my insanity. The ham to my cheese. The Tom to my Jerry.

My ears had been ringing in the silence of your death.

But I’m not sorry that I took the gun.

And shot you.

View this story's 10 comments.