This is my post in response to Shafali’s Creativity Carnival. Please go check out her post and get involved if you haven’t yet! 🙂 I had been thinking about what to write for this, and hadn’t come up with anything. Last night, Lucas and I were talking about unreliable narrator stories because I’m really wanting to write a story like that and have been trying to figure out how to go about it. We both decided to take a plunge and write a little short of one. What a great way to make it a Creativity Carnival post too! So here’s my story, I’m going to say by posting this I’m copyrighting it, since I may evolve it into something more. 🙂 I hope you enjoy!
I’ve never been to a funeral before. Before now, I mean. This one will mark my first, my first funeral, my first family member to die, my sister will be buried underground today. I feel sad, but in a way relieved. I comb my hair, trying to make what strands are there fall into place around my cowlicks. My suit is lying on the bed, waiting for me to put it on. My mind is going in a million directions, mostly though of the conflicting feelings from my heart.
My sister and I were never close. She was, I don’t know if it will ever be easy to talk about her in the past tense, three years older than I. She wasn’t mean, exactly, she was just herself, and I guess people can unluckily be graced with a mean spirit. When we were children she would make fun of me. Not in front of our parents, of course, but every time their backs were turned she would be making faces at me or calling me names.
I had a chest where I kept all of my prized possessions. It was a beautifully carved wooden chest, one my father got from his great grandfather, I believe. I had my toy cars, my rocket ships, my drawings, and as I got older my writings. I would keep little things of nature I found in there, candy to save for later, notes from friends, anything I wanted to hold on to and keep with me. This chest didn’t have a key. If so, it was lost long ago and only had a strap to keep the lid on now. I suppose the strap is still there.
Anyway, this chest was very important to me. I hid it under my bed, where no one would ever find it behind the shadows. Only someone did, my sister. She would move it around, riffle through its contents, and take whatever she wished. It was always what I wanted to keep most. I would confront her, and she would call me terrible names, names I don’t wish to remember coming from the mouth of the dead. She told me she had gotten rid of it, destroyed my most prized possessions.
I would be devastated. How could she do this to me? To my things? I tried to find new hiding places for my chest, but somehow she always found it. That’s why I can’t share my favorite things as a boy with you now. I guess it’s all in the past anyhow.
When she went off to college, she told me to get rid of the box. I don’t know why she would say that to me, I finally would be able to keep my favorite things close without her snooping through and taking them away! Not only that, but she also told me to never talk to her again. My sister! The one I looked up to for all those years, despite her picking on me and ruining my things. I was devastated. I didn’t know how she could be so mean.
I tried to do what she asked, but I missed her so much! I would call, and write, and send emails. She never returned a single one. It was such a blow to me, which I should have seen coming, year after year of abuse from her. The only solace I now have is that I did finally see her, before she passed away.
I drove to her school, and waited for her to be off work so I could talk to her. She seemed surprised to see me, but agreed to talk for a little while. It was nice, probably the best memory I have of my sister. She was so mean, but maybe in that moment with her, she knew she was going to die soon, and was trying to right the years of wrongs. I’ll never know now.
It’s time to go now, so I leave my small room to see the funeral they put on for my sister.
I don’t know why they think I killed her. I guess I should be happy they’re letting me go to the funeral, since I haven’t been convicted of the crime yet is what I hear. My lawyer says they have a good case, but I don’t see how. After all the years of abuse. They say the signs were there all from youth. That I would kill small animals and keep their bodies in my room. I would later kill neighborhood animals and keep their bodies. That my sister was disposing of the bodies for my own sake and safety. Apparently she kept journals of it, and how she was scared of me. I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, but of course she would set me up like that! After all the years of abuse and now this?
They say I went to kill her. That she screamed but I hit her too hard on the head to have her scream again. I don’t know how they can say this when we had such a lovely talk. I kept her body in my chest along with the other decomposing neighborhood animals is what they say. I don’t know how, I would have had to cut her up, and I only put my favorite things in that chest. She was so mean to me. But I do feel conflicted, I did love my sister. She was one of my favorite things. Maybe I did put her in the chest. But why not, after all the years of abuse?