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A Sister's Murder
I lie down, I rest my heavy head upon my pillow, I shut my eyes and beg for sleep. Behind my eyes my thoughts race from the school projects that are yet to be finished, the drama between friends, and my family issues. I feel stressed there is no way I can sleep like this. I ponder what would take my mind off my worries and dull my stress.
I choose an odd topic: What things in everyday life would be in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Pillows would be cotton candy , and roads would be black
lickerish , and the . . . . . . t h e . . .
I’m at school, everyone is looking at me. Some have an amazed format on their face, others scared. I can’t fathom why, why would they be scared of me, or amazed. I go to the bathroom; I stare deep into the mirror. Who am I? This isn’t me, its… its my sister? How did this happen, why did this happen? I shut my eyes tight and the thought “my sister is dead,” runs through my mind.
I open my eyes and I’m running as if my life depends on it, and I have an urge telling me it does. I feel as If I am still my sister. I am running through a hall with checkered linoleum floors, old flickering lights, and the place looks like it hasn’t been inhabited in years. I hear a whisper in my ear “Shannon,” I turn to my sisters name. The strain of whiplash stains my neck and I fall onto my back at the sudden movement. A black figure is standing over me repeating “I never wanted to do this,” “I only wanted you to love me,” and “it doesn‘t have to end like this.”
I sprang up and jolted to a door, it was a classroom. The blackboard was filmed with dust as was the floor. I shut the door briskly behind me and searched for a way out or a way to hide. He opened the door, “ John you don’t have to do this, there are other choices.” The words fall out of my mouth with no understanding or meaning. He corners me and I feel helpless “Please!” I plead.
He has me against the corner as he caresses my face with a gentle embrace. Why am I afraid of him I think. As the though runs through my head he removes his hand, he puts his head down, and shakes his head.
“Shannon I‘ll see you in heaven,” I feel a chill of terror splashes through me and my instincts make me go to run. As I go for my third sprint a urging pain cuts into my upper waist.
I am no longer my sister, but I am my own body forced to watch the scene.
My sister shrieks in agony, I stretch my hand for me and she sees me. John looks and sees nothing. He turns back to her and stabs her over and over, I flinch with each wound. I try to stop him and there is nothing I can do.
My sisters eyes stay on me, as she slowly loses her life. Her eyes become bloodshot as blood drips from her mouth. Her entity lifts from her body, she walks over to me. “Help me Sarah, Please help me.” She says in almost a whisper as she fades away.
John gets up, looks all around him in a paranoid manor and runs through the door. I run after him but as I go to run out the door everything changes, I see four flashes.
I see a street corner on a vacant night with an older school building behind it. There are fences all around it, and construction signs cover the fences. There are bull-dozers, and plows in sight. Next I see a dumpster in an ally way, It is nearly overflowing with garbage. The ally is dark, as if it is in the late night hours. A dark shadow fills the ally. And a feeling envelopes me that the knife lies in this dumpster. After which I see The face of the attacker, John. His Dark brown eyes are lined with a thick shadow from lack of sleep. He has a light beard and moustache, and his lips are full for his small jaw. He looked in his late twenties, yet he as if he has the skin texture if a forty year old construction worker. His dark brown hair is messily stick behind his ears, with and outflow of a few stands. Even though the scene lasts but a second I memorize his face. The fourth is of my other sister Samantha. Her eyebrows are tightly creased, and tears are imbedded in her cheeks. She looks horrified, and her hair is as if she had just woken up. She is in a rush and stress fills the scene.
I awake to the telephone screaming a tone into my ears. I take a second to fathom the dream that I had and I answer the phone.
“Hello?” I say in a tired and unwelcoming voice. There is no reason for somebody to be calling me at this hour.
“Sarah,” it is Samantha she sounded worrisome and definitely stressed out.
“What Sam, what‘s wrong?” I tried to sound interested, but knowing her it was just another petty drama.
“It‘s Shannon, sh-she‘s dead.” She sobbed the last words and everything became abstract. “She‘s been murdered!” Samantha cried out. We cried onto the phone. After nearly an half hour of crying she told me she was coming to pick me up so we could make funeral arrangements and we hung up.
I’m Sarah Enne Berkers and I think that I may have just seen my sister’s murder.