Me Thinking

Chapter 3 A few months later. It’s been 8 months since Rain left my life. I should have been a better sister. I should have cherished her more. She was too precious. She still is. My step dad has now filed a case against us. I and my mom have been distraught over this situation. My own, I guess I can’t call him my own anymore. I loved him like a daughter loves her father. But at the end I received detestation, rage, and abhorrence from him. After all, Rain was his only daughter. He blames me and my mom for this tragic death. Apparently, according to his perceptions, I and my mom planned on killing her because she was my step sister. I wish he knew I love Rain more than myself. I wish I could save her. ‘Emma hurry up! We have to leave in five minutes for court.’ It’s our 10 th visit to the court now. I can’t sleep anymore. I can’t eat. I can’t do anything. Everything I do, everywhere I go. It reminds me of Rain. She left her pieces in everything around us and faded away. ...

Chapter 2 I run back up to my room. This place, this horrific, strange place does not remind me of a home. It reminds me of a horror house. A horror house you see in every kid’s nightmare, in every neighborhood. It’s a forbidden house, an old and dilapidated building on the corner of a street with the paint wearing off, the bricks weakening as the sun dawns and sets, layers of dust coated to it and an abode for the crows fluttering and nesting by the window side, mostly just to scare off the people. Rains room, a barred area in our territory, a scarred room with walls stained with blood, caution tape covered all over her bed and a red cross on the floor were Rain was inhumanly killed. The detectives had a confused look on their faces as they analyzed the room and went through Rain’s things. The sounds of her screams are still piercing through my ears. Her quivering voice can still be heard, like a sacred verse, crying and yelling for help, for time to stop at once so that th...

Chapter 1 I remember the day you were born. It was around 11:30 in the morning when I got a call from the hospital. I was at home with my maid. She was a like friend to me. It was 2007, when you, Rain came to this world, into my life. My dad called saying, ‘It’s a girl Emma!’ I jumped from excitement and glee that had filled me wholly.   ‘See daddy, it’s because I’ve been a really good girl now that God gave me a sister!’ That was the best day of my life. Rain was like a beacon of light that came through my dark phase and helped me become a better person. The darkness within me began to burn away into ashes because that murky void began to glow like the sun. She made me happy. She helped me become someone who appreciated living. However all I could give her was death, horror and a traumatizing incident. An incident that will forever make me shed tears and guilt over something that I could have put an end to. I was so contented that I could cry. When Rain came home I...

They left me. I should have known. Why did I trust them? I should have just jumped off the roof two months ago. But they promised me that they won’t ever leave me again. However once again, I blindly trusted them. I had put up this quote on my wall stating ‘trust is like a piece of crumbled paper, once its crumbled, it cant be perfect again’. Even after reading it every night, managing a few hours of sleep, I told myself, I wouldn’t trust them even if the sky is falling but when told me that they love me, the word ‘love’ itself carries a lot of weight and I felt like I was on cloud nine therefore, I climbed down the platform and jumped into their open arms, tears rolling down my cheeks repeatedly, and my friends asking for forgiveness.   Well, right now, I’m lying down in a pile of dead autumn leaves, which are crunching beneath me, like my body, rotting right now in the hours of darkness. I weakly glare at the grey and shady sky, the dark clouds, swollen with unrest, yearning...

It all started with a beautiful morning. The sun shinning brightly through the muffled clouds; the orange trees laced with sunlight, the birds chirping a humble tone, the air heavy but gentle at the same time and the wind politely crashed onto my face like a wave out of the ocean.   It was a Friday and my 970th day at the foster home.   Why I was there is probably what you’re thinking, right? Or why am I using past tense? Am I dead? Or am I about to die? Or did I write this manuscript and then I died? Or am I still alive? You will sooner or later find out. Either one. So the foster home was it? Well I was not like all the others. I was kind of unique, or different or exceptional or special or anything else which you think is the opposite of normal. Stuttering is a speaking disorder which isn’t a big deal for some people but for me it was. You see, my family abandoned me when I was five when they found out about the stuttering.   It was a wintry and cold and humid...