My throat closes. My chest aches. My mind goes blank. My heart cries. My eyes stream. Every time I think about Chrissa.

It pains me, to say that it feels like I am just a girl. A daughter. A young woman. These days, I don't feel like a sister.

This is not because I neglect any sisterly needs or responsibilities, this is because my sister is the one doing the neglect. Not that I am a needy child. But that I am the kind of person, who feeds on the warmth and love each and every family member brings, as an individual. Then of course, the warmth and love a family brings as the whole lot.

I'm not sure when Chrissa changed. When she split in two. When her old self was hidden in the closet, ordered to be a skeleton. When I lost my spunky, feisty, hardheaded, confident sister. The one who loved the color red and to dance all night long in our Pjs with our Besties. 

All I know, is that Chrissa is not the girl she was six months ago, and I don't know if that other Chrissa will ever be back.


With a warm blanket casing my body, I curled up in front of the fire. With my co-co on the table nearby, and my current novel in hand, I settled in to read. But before I got too far, I felt like something was wrong, very very wrong.

A bit spooked, I glanced around the room. My eyes locked on the glass daisies that were in their cases. Some dead relative gave the daisies to Chrissa and I when we were babies. Over the years, on both mine and Chrissa's, all but one of the petals have broken off after one ordeal or another. Not too long ago, Chrissa almost threw hers away, she had lost interest. Of course, because of the value I had in it, I took it home. Then I put it in a case, right next to mine. And there the two daisies sat, until tonight.

Nothing seemed wrong, but I got kind of lost staring at them. Not moving. I sat there for a long time just watching our daisies. Suddenly, some movement caught my eye. From inside the case.

My stomach churned. My heart dropped. My soul died. Chrissa's daisy's last petal, fell. Off of the center. Then, it exploded into a million pieces in the case. To me, it sounded like a bomb had just blown up in that little case. Really though, the last petal had just fallen. 

The scream shook my apartment, I could hear voices calling my name. Everything after that was so much a blur. The only thing I could keep straight in my mind was that something was very very wrong. With Chrissa.


My daisy's petals, and Chrissa's too, always fell off when something bad happened to us. Our family called it  silly to believe that since there were only 6 petals (originally) on our daisies, Chrissa and I would only live through 6 ordeals. Chrissa and I ignored them. We believed.  Privately, and secretly, I always thought that when our last petal fell, we would die.

The End

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