Help, I'm screaming from the top of my lungs, but to no avail. No one comes, no one helps. Neither can I, so I slide down the door, tears streaming from off my face into the lines of wood underneath me, banging on a locked door that refuses to open, helplessly crying for someone to help pry this door open.
I'm sorry sis,
I can hear her say from the other side.
It's not you, or anyone else. It's me.
Her voice paper thin but it feels as if she's speaking into a microphone next to my ear.
My time is up. It's all over.
NOOOOO,
I attempt to scream, but as usual it comes out like a mere whisper. I try to get up to run away from there, find help anywhere, but my feet and body are glued to the floor. Then it comes.
Thud.
Nothing stops me from crying as tears seem to come from everywhere. After thirty seconds of crying, the blood from the other side seeps through, into the pool of tears that came from me. I turn around to see my parents. My mother. My father. Both with disappointed faces. " It's all your fault," their normal chant was" This. This is all your fault."
And then I wake up.
My parents are already in the room, on the edge of my bed, asking about my recurring dream. " Same as always guys," I answer, telling the truth. Ever since Penelope died, my parents have been taking me to the therapist, where we talk about life for me since the incident, and tried to improve my behavior.
But none of that matters if I have the same problem: I've never let it go. The suicide, the nightmares of that night keep coming over and over again. Thing is, the endings point towards me, my subconscious telling me it was my fault. So every morning my parents come to remind me it wasn't my fault, but an evil so indistinguishable, that people don't do anything when it happens around them. But not me. I'm gonna make them pay, have them coming to me for mercy. My plan of attack starts in less than 24 hours, and they won't even see it coming...
I will avenge my sister, even if it's the last thing I do.
*****