Sister Act

I write this under strange circumstances, lying here on this cold floor, unable to remove the knife thrust into my abdomen. It happened so fast. I did not realize that someone had broken into the apartment until I saw him. He could have warned me and left. Why should this happen to me! Somehow, it seemed as though he intentionally…oh this hurts so much. I need to keep myself from passing out. Guess writing helps, yes, that’s what the paramedic said on the phone. They are going to be here soon. I haven’t been able to call my sister. Wonder where she is and how she will feel once she finds out. She’s had it difficult in life, but then, some of us do and we need to accept it.

I’ve not seen her in a while. We’ve never had much of a relationship. If I don’t make it, maybe this can help her understand me better.

My earliest memories of her were about her sulking and crying in a corner of our modest middle class house. She had heard someone praise my cuteness. She hated that. But, I don’t know why, because she wasn’t a good looker! As we were growing up, I could see my parents clearly doting on me more than her, taking my side during a lot of our sisterly fights and praising me to high heavens while criticizing her. I never protected her. Maybe I didn’t see the need to since I had things going my way and felt that we all need to fend for ourselves. My parents worked hard to give us a good life. If one amongst us survives, and if it is me instead of her, so be it. That’s the game.

She was strange though. She never hit back, never showed her anger, never screamed or shouted. I could get away with anything with her. She had a quiet way about her that everyone noticed but no one understood. My mother did. To her, she was a cauldron of anger, with fire inside and burning emotions. But, she could never convince anyone of that because my sister gave no one, any indication. My mother did warn me to go easy on her, for her anger may take over. Quiet people who don’t react immediately have that tendency, they say. But, I didn’t really care. Shape up little sister, else put up with it.

As we grew older, my time for her grew lesser and lesser. I had my tuitions, boyfriends, sports and cultural activities to take care of. She of course struggled to finish her studies and had no noticeable skills, no friends and certainly no boyfriends. Maybe I should have looked out for her in her budding years. But then, who looked out for me, but me. I got married and went abroad. She struggled to find a husband. My life was good and she was far away. Anyway it’s good that my parents had some company.

But then, things started to go topsy-turvy. My husband died in an accident. Post-mortem revealed that he was on drugs that eventually made him pass out on the wheel. I could never have imagined that he was on drugs. They found needles on him they said. I was so devastated. How could this happen? I called home and found out that my parents had committed suicide the same night. I mean, how? ‘They took an overdose of sleeping pills’; the staid voice of my sister came across on the phone before she hung up. I haven’t heard from her since.

I moved back and rented this apartment. The investigation into my parent’s suicide proved inconclusive. Somehow everything seems so hopeless. My whole world has collapsed around me. I have no one. My mental state won’t allow me to find a decent job. My parents had, in their will, left everything to me. Momentarily, I thought about why they did not leave her anything. I guess they trusted me more than her. Anyway she never inspired trust.

I hear a noise outside. It must be the paramedics. I want to say this to my sister...oh who’s that... It’s...it’s her…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

All it took was a little push on that kitchen knife. I have killed her. I killed our parents and I got her husband killed………She should have listened to mom, a long time ago.