12
127words
She had been alive, beautiful once, and in the end what I remembered was blood — so much blood.
I wanted to wipe it away, but it wouldn't come off. My white blouse turned crimson. I couldn't clean it all.
My mother rushed at me and ripped my hair, her hands clawing my scalp. She pounded me.
"Why didn't you pick up her calls? She called nine times!" she yelled.
"Nine! You didn't answer any of them!" Her sobs and rage pounded at my chest like stones.
I soaked in it and felt it cut me. It was all my fault.
I had killed my sister with my own hands, they said.
