Cimorelli One Shots

three (pt. 4)

400 WORDS:

"There used to be six of us, but we no longer have three."

. . .

They were going to court.

**** Cimorelli, age 21, convicted of the murder of her younger sister.

They were going to court.

******** Cimorelli, age 14, stabbed to death by her own sister.

. . .

The first time she woke up, someone was waving a newspaper in her face.

She's up, she heard a voice.

She didn't remember falling asleep.

The second time, though, she did.

After assuring everyone that she was fine, she had just tripped, the court session continued.

And she was called up as a witness.

Who's side was she to take?

Serving justice for her poor little sister, or defending the one that commenced the horrific crime.

Three of her sisters were gone already, she only had two left. 

Was she to break off her bond with her sister, who committed murder?

The murder of their youngest sister.

Walking shakily up to the seat, she felt herself get lightheaded.

Her eyes opened to see the off-white colors of the local hospital.

She groaned, why did she have to be so problematic?

Feeling a sharp pain in her arm, she turned left on instinct.

Of course, she was hooked to an IV.

Sighing, she tried to fall asleep.

Surely, getting some sleep would help pass time.

Help reduce the pain.

But for the most part, help her forget about all the crap going on in her life.

She was barely nineteen, yet her life was already spiraling downwards.

She was conflicted.

Inside, and outside.

Her entire life seemed like it was the action scene in a movie.

But perhaps she could contribute to the action.

Before she knew what she was going, she did it.

Make everything a little more exciting.

She felt free.

Shoot a few bullets, slash a knife through the air.

She had already pulled it from her arm, and was standing outside, staring at the deep blue sky, on her own accord.

Or perhaps,

She didn't know it -- or rather, chose not to acknowledge it -- but warm liquids were running down her head.

She didn't know it -- or rather, chose not to acknowledge it -- but she had run into a few doors.

On accident, of course.

This was going to be an accident.

No one's fault.

No one to blame, except herself.

She had never felt so independent.

Never felt so, free.

Closing her eyes, she fell upon the dead grass.

The grass as dead as she was about to be.

And she was oh so happy.

I find peace in the air.

this chapter isn't nearly as good as the previous ones, or the ones coming up next. just a bit of a filler (: