I sat on my usual window seat, staring at the dull pale sunlight streaming through the window. It didn't matter, I wasn't going to give up on school just because my sister was dead. She was stupid, that's all.
I was the one who found her, lying down, frail, and so pretty, like a porcelain doll, with the crimson stream flowing from her wrist. I had never seen her look more beautiful. My sister, my dear, strong sister.
I picked up my paint brushes and dabbed the colours on the pallet. "My sweet, pure sister." Red and violet streaks blended together with mathematical precision on the blank frame.
"Strong and valiant, my sister." I continued to add a shade of black on the outer rims of the canvas.
"My saviour and salvation, dearest friend, my wonderful sister." Slowly, I lifted the Flesh tint and hues of Brown and white from the container. Dabbing them on my brush, I proceeded to paint that perfect slim arm, as it was the night before, lifeless, cold, and so hard.
"My cold, weary sister. Why did you leave me?" I began to slice her wrist with my brush, and continued to let the blood flow from the bristles.
"Was I not good enough, sister?" I stared at the painting, so real, so life like standing on my easel. The rush of confusion penertrated through the thin barrier.
Why? Why didn't she tell me? How could she leave me alone, how could she do this to me? Why...Why...WHY!!! I hated the fact that I had no answers, that everything had just...vanished within seconds. She couldn’t be gone, the doctors where lying! They were all wrong! She was going to walk in through the door, with that blissful smile on her face, and that bright glimmer in her eyes, and tell everyone it was a big misunderstanding!
I stared at the door for what seemed like hours. The light grew pale, cold, and dark.
I could feel my knees buckle underneath the invisible weight. My body crashed onto the marble tiling, shattering my fragile heart into a million pieces. She couldn’t be dead, it just made no sense.
A strong hand clasped onto my shoulder. I whirled around, hoping to find myself staring into her bight eyes. But hope, is a deceitful and crafty little fraud.
"Perhaps it's time you left, Miss." The teacher patted me lightly on the back. Her eyes shifted from mine, to the canvas. I nodded slowly. Perhaps I’d wake up, and it would all be a dream, just a bad dream. “A Nightmare you shall never awaken from...” The voices rang in my head, as she escorted me to the gate.
It was so cold that day, so very cold.