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Finis est principium

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Silence. Sometimes it's louder than any noise. As I look in her eyes, I understand. I finally understand. Why is it that when you no longer need to know you finally understand? My name is Eve, and, like my biblical predecessor, I made a terrible mistake. At 17, you feel as though you own the world. Young, pretty...it's not at all surprising that my generation has such entitlement issues. I grew up in a small town in the south where you sit on your wrap-around porch in the shade of a magnolia with a gentle breeze from the slow paddling fan above you drinking sweet tea. This was my life. No longer are my days as simple as they used to be. I used to have a sister too. Anne. She was three years younger than me, and even at 14 she saw the world as I wish I could. She could find beauty in the hideous, innocence in the d*mned, and love in the despised. She was a ray of sunshine, bright and warm, on a cloudy day. She now lies in my lap, her eyes staring blankly up at me as her small body cools in my arms. My hands are stained with her blood, both metaphorically and literally. Remember how I said my generation has entitlement issues? What’s worse is its need for instant gratification. I’m not exempt from these vices. When I was offered to go to a party at an abandoned quarry, I jumped at the offer. I’ve always been pretty, what with my long, sweeping, blonde hair and glittering azure eyes, yet I’m the kind of pretty that’s admired for a moment before being forgotten. The quarry had been abandoned for almost 50 years and had been filled with water and used as a pool. My parents, now that I think back, were right all along. I would beg unmercifully to go there when one of my friends had a party, yet was always denied. The quarry was at least 30 feet deep with who-knows-what at the bottom, or that was always the answer when I asked. This time, though, I didn’t ask. I did. The party was set to start at 10 p.m, and so I began to pack at seven as any girl in my position would. I had everything planned out: I would say I was going to bed at 9 p.m, then wait in my room for half-an-hour until 9:30 p.m (my parent’s bedtime) before sneaking out my window onto the trellis that leaned against the wall. The one thing I didn’t factor in was Anne. Just as I was getting ready to try to slip out of my window in a dress almost too short to consider a shirt, Anne came into my room, her innocent eyes wide with question. I couldn’t think of anything to say, but before I even got a chance to start chewing her out for not knocking, I actually looked at her. She had the trademark Adams family hair, long and blonde; loose from the ponytail she seemed to wear incessantly. My gaze trailed down further, taking in the denim mini-skirt and tight tube top. I glanced past her to my clock on my dresser and made the decision I’ll always regret: I allowed her to go with me. With that we both scrambled down the trellis, trying to avoid the myriad of thorns and vines that held resident to the wall. The ride to the quarry had been silent, as though we were afraid to shatter the delicate balance we had erected. We could feel the music pumping before could see the party, and I remember looking over to see Anne’s face glowing with excitement. With barely glance; I left my little sister to fend for herself in the crowd of roaming eyes as I rushed to meet up with my friends. It was around 1 a.m when I decided to go home. My hair was wet and sleek from swimming, my skin raised with goosebumps from the chilly air. It was around 1:30 a.m when I began to get worried when I couldn’t find Anne. It was exactly 1:47 a.m when I found her tiny body caught in some weeds on the far edge of the quarry. My face burned with shame and despair as I dragged her limp body out of the frigid ebony water. Pain lanced through my heart and bile rose in my throat as I saw her pink heart panties around her ankles. I had to turn my head and vomit when I saw the blood seeping through her shirt at her stomach. Cradling her head in my lap I looked down in her eyes, the fact that she was dead not making it any easier to hide the fear that had been there until the last moment. I now sit here, stroking her hair, holding her close to me. I cleaned her up so there was no way you could know that she had been violated. Her hands were resting on her stomach; from afar you would think she was asleep. I knew different. The people who hurt her can’t hide forever.
Remember: Finis est in principio.




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