The день my sister died, was the день I, myself, died as well.
She may not have knew it, but she was my hero.
I guess, however, all big sisters were kind of like that.
I remember seeing it, the body, the blood, the note she left in her own form of representation.
It was written, all across the wall, the note she left behind was in her own blood.
Hatred.
What a word, so different from hated; just a different form.
Which one am I? I should be described as both.
I hate you, and I know Ты hate me too. Everyone does.
Here are my final words to you:
Pain is welcoming
Crawling down my arm so slow
Blood that leaks like tears.
The blood, indeed, had leaked. Down the wall. Tears of it had been seen at that moment dripping from her arm as well. Yet, there was still еще to be read.
Definition dies
What is used to describe me
Hatred is very real.
I bit my tongue, holding back the tears that threatened to peak.
This is my final moment, where I desire to admit that I no longer trust anyone.
I am dead, Death’s definition.
Ты may see it now, obviously dead physically.
But emotionally, mentally, I have been dead for a long time.
Since the time they betrayed me.
Since the time everyone betrayed me.
Do Ты see me now?
Look closely.
Breathless.
Bloody.
Bye.
There lay her body, remembered as Cynthia Kay.
My sister.
Filled with despair, wordless, I walked downstairs. My step-father was in the living room, Чтение some magazine and with the Телевидение playing. I stood there for about fifteen minutes, the picture of my deceased sister remaining in front of my eyes.
“Paul.” I swallowed. He looked up at me.
“What’s up, Little one?” I wondered if he’d continue referring to me as “Little One” after my big sister was recognized as gone.
I blinked, not thinking about my words, not thinking about my emotions.
“Cynthia needs you.” I swallowed again, but the lump in my throat would not go away.
He sighed and got up, somewhat annoyed. I wanted to перфоратор, удар, пунш him with my small, eleven-year-old fists.
“This better be good,” He сказал(-а) as he walked off towards her room.
A минута later, there was yelling.
There was panic.
There was confusement.
But the strange part was, referring back to the written words, there seemed to be a major lack in despair.
Maybe it was shock, или maybe Cynthia was right.
Did anybody but me care anymore?
She may not have knew it, but she was my hero.
I guess, however, all big sisters were kind of like that.
I remember seeing it, the body, the blood, the note she left in her own form of representation.
It was written, all across the wall, the note she left behind was in her own blood.
Hatred.
What a word, so different from hated; just a different form.
Which one am I? I should be described as both.
I hate you, and I know Ты hate me too. Everyone does.
Here are my final words to you:
Pain is welcoming
Crawling down my arm so slow
Blood that leaks like tears.
The blood, indeed, had leaked. Down the wall. Tears of it had been seen at that moment dripping from her arm as well. Yet, there was still еще to be read.
Definition dies
What is used to describe me
Hatred is very real.
I bit my tongue, holding back the tears that threatened to peak.
This is my final moment, where I desire to admit that I no longer trust anyone.
I am dead, Death’s definition.
Ты may see it now, obviously dead physically.
But emotionally, mentally, I have been dead for a long time.
Since the time they betrayed me.
Since the time everyone betrayed me.
Do Ты see me now?
Look closely.
Breathless.
Bloody.
Bye.
There lay her body, remembered as Cynthia Kay.
My sister.
Filled with despair, wordless, I walked downstairs. My step-father was in the living room, Чтение some magazine and with the Телевидение playing. I stood there for about fifteen minutes, the picture of my deceased sister remaining in front of my eyes.
“Paul.” I swallowed. He looked up at me.
“What’s up, Little one?” I wondered if he’d continue referring to me as “Little One” after my big sister was recognized as gone.
I blinked, not thinking about my words, not thinking about my emotions.
“Cynthia needs you.” I swallowed again, but the lump in my throat would not go away.
He sighed and got up, somewhat annoyed. I wanted to перфоратор, удар, пунш him with my small, eleven-year-old fists.
“This better be good,” He сказал(-а) as he walked off towards her room.
A минута later, there was yelling.
There was panic.
There was confusement.
But the strange part was, referring back to the written words, there seemed to be a major lack in despair.
Maybe it was shock, или maybe Cynthia was right.
Did anybody but me care anymore?
Jaycee's POV
I lay there besides Liana, she is sleeping, I rest my hand on her soft delicate face, she stirrs in her sleep. Her eyes flutter open and she gaze's at me.
"Mmmmm, Mommy wh-where are we?" She asks. "Texas" I reply. She looks around, blood is spattered everywhere no is around except the dead boddies. She screams stands up and starts to panic. "Li, Li Calm down!" I say calmly. "Wha-What happened!!!" I sighed, I couldnt belive she cant remember. "Were isolated in a tiny town in texas remember?????" I asked. She paused thought for a минута and shook her head.
I lay there besides Liana, she is sleeping, I rest my hand on her soft delicate face, she stirrs in her sleep. Her eyes flutter open and she gaze's at me.
"Mmmmm, Mommy wh-where are we?" She asks. "Texas" I reply. She looks around, blood is spattered everywhere no is around except the dead boddies. She screams stands up and starts to panic. "Li, Li Calm down!" I say calmly. "Wha-What happened!!!" I sighed, I couldnt belive she cant remember. "Were isolated in a tiny town in texas remember?????" I asked. She paused thought for a минута and shook her head.