• I admit that me and my sister didn't always get along. In fact, we had trouble just saying 'please' and 'thank you' to each other. Our mother couldn't stand it, and she always threatened me by saying that if I didn't stop harassing my sister, then she would send me to live with my stepmother. I hated her.

    My sister, Kayandra, was always too nice. Everyone thought that she was perfect, and I found that I couldn't stand it. Personally, I blame her father. He was a celestial. A celestial is a person who's practically made out of goodness. They're meant to protect people and slay evil.

    My mother always complained that I was filled with hatred. Then she'd go on talking about what a terrible man my demonic father was, and how I would never be born had she known that he was a demon in the first place. That leads me to wonder, though, if she never had me, would she have ever had Kayandra?

    Me and my sister were exact opposites. My kind had a lust to kill, while her's, as said before, was meant to protect people and slay evil. I was her only exception.

    Kayandra had hardly been born yet when she had killed my father without realizing it. She was a newborn, and my father found out that my mother was giving birth to a celestial's baby. He had stormed into the hospital room, demanding that he have me back. As Kay was being born, something had happened and she had killed him. I think I was only eight when it happened.

    Because of that, I had always feared my baby sister, but, oddly enough, she adored me as a baby. I grew to love her, and I always wanted to take care of her and play games with her. She was always near me, and we shared a bond that many sisters never get the opportunity to have. Then, we grew up.

    We were always fighting for some reason or another. One of us always seemed to be complaining that we hated the other and that we wanted them to die.

    One day, I told my mother that, and she almost hit me. She told me that I was ungrateful and that many girls like me don't even get to live long enough to have sisters because their parents didn't want to deal with the trouble that a demonic child would give them. That almost made me cry, but I still told my sister that she should die. Soon, I forced myself to believe that it was true.

    So, as you could imagine, it surprised and confused me at how broken I felt when she was killed.

    Life without her was more difficult than life with her. My mother was always crying, always telling me that she wish she had the strength to kill herself to be with her daughter. She kept telling me that had I never told her that I hated her or wanted her dead, she wouldn't have died. She told me that she hated me.

    I felt broken, and I'd stay in my room throughout the day, pictures of my little sister surrounding me anywhere I looked. I'd look over at her bed, the sheets that were light blue, decorated everywhere with bright red cherries. She had matching blankets and pillowcases, too.

    I was about to yell at her to make her bed, because staring at it, I was lost in my thoughts and forgot that she was gone. Then I started to cry. Every tear that fell made two drops on my bed, not one. Even they were broken.

    I took one picture of her and laid it on my bed, staring at it. This was the only picture where me and her were together, and hugging at that. In fact, this was the only picture left of me at all. My mother decided that she hated me so much that she burned all of the others.

    That didn't bug me, really, but what did bug me was that she refused to eat, sleep, look at me, or look at any pictures of Kay. I tried to convince her that she ha to eat, but she just yelled at me or ignored me, sometimes even hit me. If I told her to do it for Kay, then it was certain that she would hit me, with enough force, in fact, to throw me across the room.

    Soon, a whole year had passed. My mother had quit her job, and we were having trouble keeping ourselves alive. On Kay's anniversary of death, I gathered all of her pictures and laid them on my bed. I whispered to her, or tried,

    "Kay, I lied to you. I really do love you. You're my baby sister, and I need you. Mama's killing herself over you. Don't let her do this. Why can't you come back?"

    Tears fell from my face, and I didn't even have the strength to sit up anymore. I fell on the ground, my body sprawled out weakly. I felt like I was dying, and somehow, it felt worse than death, and I knew why. Upon death, I could be with Kayandra again, whereas, at this point, I had no chance of seeing her, and I felt unbelievable searing pain shoot through my body. It hurt worst of all when it hit my chest.

    I don't remember what had happened after that, but I remember waking up to my mother shaking me and screaming my name.

    "Mom? What is it?" I asked her, confused, especially since she was talking to me since the first time in 10 months.

    "I saw her, Andy! I saw your sister! She came to me to tell me that she loved me!" Tears were falling from her face and landing on mine. I closed my eyes, tired from the blackout that I had just experienced.

    "Mom, are you sure?" I asked her skeptically.

    "Yes, yes! I'm sure, Andy! I saw her, I really did!" she claimed excitedly.

    "Alright, Mom. I believe you." I really did believe her, actually, because I had asked my sister to do this and I did faintly remember seeing her in my dream.

    My mother skipped out of my room happily. She looked like a little girl again, and I felt a huge burden on my chest, because I knew that now that she had Kay, she would not work at all, and I'd have to get a job to support us.

    Somehow, throughout the days, my mother got more and more sad. I felt like I had caused it, so I once again felt broken.

    Suddenly, a flashback came to my head. I really did kill my sister. Not directly, of course, but it was still my fault. I felt a need to see the man who had killed her: her own father.

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    ((Will be continued))