“When I die,” Lia’s eyes flutter open. “-bury me in pink.” Abigail stares at her younger sister, the only family Abby has left, her hand combing back the sweaty hair glued to Lia’s forehead and her fingers laced between the tiny eight year old’s fingers. Abby strokes her color stricken cheek, shaking her head.

“You hate pink,” she whispers. “You won’t die.” Lia interuppts.

“And when I die,” Lia says again, taking long breaths between each word. “-bury me with a stuffed penguin.” Abby shakes her head again.

“You love dolphins,”

“And when I die,” Lia coughs, a trickle of blood slipping down her chin. “-bury me with striped toe socks. Bury me with Almond Joy’s and strawberry scented shampoo.”

“You hate all of that,”

“But you don’t,” Lia’s voice grows tired, her eyes flutter shut, but her mouth opens just enough for the words to slip out. “Where ever I go,” she mutters. “I want you with me.”

A long, moaning shrill is the only thing Abby hears now.