I love my sister. She’s young, mischievous, and like a ballerina, enjoys flying around the house on her tippy toes.
I remember, back when she was four, she said she wanted to dance. But we didn’t have enough money to sign her up to dance programs, so I ended up buying her a bunch of dance CDs for her to learn from. It worked, for a while. She eventually got bored so I let her use my computer to watch ballet shows on YouTube.
I unlock the front door and quietly enter. Today is her birthday. She turns six. I bought her sparkly ballet shoes. She always used to complain about the holes her old ones had. That’s why she stopped wearing them, I guess. She’ll be really happy when her new ones arrive though.
I make my way past the living room before freezing. Slowly, I turn towards the area. The television is on, and sitting on the couch is Belle, my sister.
I frown. “What are you doing here?” I walk to her and kneel in front of her. “You’re sick, you shouldn’t be out of bed, baby.”
She stares at the moving screen, ignoring me. Of course, she thinks I forgot her birthday. This happens every year.
I smile. “Come here. We gotta get you to bed, or you won’t be able to have some cake later on.” I lift her up and carry her upstairs.
She’s as light as a feather, and as skinny as a skeleton, if that makes sense. She’s been sick for two years now. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, neither did the doctor who checked up on her when my parents took her to the hospital two years back. He just said to wait it out; she’ll get better. She hasn’t talked since then. You could say she’s mute.
I lay her on her bed, and cover her with a blanket. She stares up at the ceiling, ignoring me. Does she still think I forgot her birthday? I told her we’ll have cake later, that should’ve been a hint that I haven’t forgotten her birthday.
The telephone rings downstairs. I place a chaste kiss on her forehead before standing up. When I turn to leave, I’m tugged backwards. I look down. Her bony fingers have attached themselves onto the hem of my shirt. I gently grab her hand. “I’ll be back. I just gotta go take the call.”
I place her hand under the blanket. “Your hand is too cold. Keep it under here, okay?”
She does as she’s told, and I leave the room and make my way downstairs. The phone is still ringing when I reach it. I pick it up. “Hello?”
”Hello? Rachael, dear. It’s me, your mama.”
Mama. Why’s she calling?
“Hey, mama. Are you okay? Has something happened to pa?”
”No, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to check up on you since today’s...you know...” she trails off.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She sighs. “Look honey, your pa and I are going to the cemetery today. Do you wanna come?”
I stare at the wall in front of me. Its wood is chipped, and some parts of it, indented, as if things have been thrown there. “Why would I go to the cemetery?”
”For your sister, Rachael, for your sister. It’s her anniversary today, or have you forgotten?”
I blink. Suddenly, the room becomes hazy, and my body collapses to the floor.
The phone lays in front of me. From the other line, I hear mama calling my name. Slowly, my shaking hands grab it and press it against my ear. “Mama?”
”Rachael? Oh honey, I’m so sorry. I thought...I thought it’s been two years, surely you would’ve moved on a little now.”
I open my mouth to speak, but it suddenly feels dry. The only thing I can do is hum in reply. I need to leave. I need to—
I hear my sister scream upstairs. Immediately, I stand up. “Mama, I gotta go. I’ll call you later. Bye!”
I hang up and run up the stairs. When I burst into Belle’s room, she’s on the floor with blood pouring out of her mouth. She looks up at me with glassy eyes, her shivering body heaving. “Help me!”
I take a step forward, arms stretched out to hold her. She crawls towards me, chubby hand outstretched, but when I try and grab it, she disappears.
I freeze, wide eyes looking around. The room is clean, no sign of her or the pool of blood that was on the floor; as if it were all a dream, like a made up, sick dream that came just to taunt me.
I straighten up and look at the small bed. My sister is there, laying under the covers.
I walk over to her. She lays there, staring up at the ceiling. I touch her face; it’s cold, and bony.
Her eyes, or where her eyes are meant to be, are a black void, and some of her tiny teeth are broken.
She looks...like a skeleton. The realisation makes me tear up. I take a closer look with a hand over my mouth. A skeleton. She’s a skeleton.
I grab her by the skull and throw her across the room. She hits the wall and falls to the floor with a thud. For a second, she kind of reminded me of a ballerina twirling in the air.
I lean my head against the bed. A skeleton. She’s a skeleton. A skele—
From the corner of the room, or the corner of my mind, I hear the sound of someone sobbing. I lift my head and glance at the skeleton—no, at my sister. That’s my sister. My sister’s crying. I hurt my sister.
I stand up and make my way to her. “I’m sorry,” I say, picking her up. I cuddle her to my chest. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, and on your birthday too. I swear I didn’t meant it. Please, forgive me.”
I carry her to her bed and cover her with a blanket. Then, I lie beside her and hold onto her bony hand. It’s cold. “I need to get you gloves soon. Your hands are too cold, Belle, too cold.”
I place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand before putting it under the blanket. That’s my sister, my sister. It’s her birthday today, and she turns six. “Go to sleep,” I tell her. “I’ll wake you up when the cake arrives.”
She turns six, and we will eat cake later on. We will, because she’s my sister, and I love my sister.
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