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by Storm
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Contest Entry · #1594305
I didn't realize it might kill him. It was an accident. (Entry for a goodreads contest)
I didn’t realize it might kill him...

I whispered those words to myself over and over, knowing they were true. It was a pure accident.

My fingers dug into the dirt, the mud solidifying under my fingernails as I screamed.

It had been an accident. Accident! Okay, so it had been me who found the spot to play soccer. It was flat! Aren’t you supposed to play soccer on flat ground? and It was me who got so irritated easily.

My hand was coated in mud, and I lifted it out. There was a boom of thunder overhead, and it started to rain.

Please, God. I whispered. It was an accident. How could I go home? How could I face my family with the knowledge that it was all my fault? My fault that my brother was lying dead in the hospital?

I lowered my face to my knees, nose touching the mud. The accursed soccer ball was lying about three feet away- I never wanted to see it again. There was a flash of lightning, followed by a rumbling of thunder.

“Hey, Robin!” NO! NO! I wanted to forget. Forget what had happened this afternoon. I would not let John’s voice echo in my memory. So then why I had I returned? Why had I fled the hospital, causing more worry to my family? “You still kick like a girl.” No. He had just been teasing… just teasing… oh, god, it was all my fault.

“Yah, kick this!” I had been mad. He sounded like my soccer coach last year- more! Harder! Better! But he hadn’t meant to. He had been kidding.

I screamed again, clawing at the dirt like I was digging up buried treasure. At the back of my mind, I wondered… why did people always pound at the dirt when they were upset? It was an accident, God, please. An accident. Please don’t kill me.


I should want to die. I shouldn’t want to live.

The rain washed the mud off my back, soaking me. I didn’t care.
The ball rolled into the highway, and John ran after it, just as the hummer came around the corner…

NO! Oh, god, I didn’t want to remember this. Mud soaked into the knees of my jeans. I knew I could not get out, but who cared?

I could almost hear him up in heaven- “Hi, I’m John. I was killed by my older sister.”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” I screamed at him. Rolling onto my back, I faced the stormy sky. I could see him so clearly infront of me. I could hear his footsteps through the grass as we looked for a flat spot to play soccer at this new vacation house.
Andrew was still at the hospital, like a good brother. He would tell my parents everything… he would tell them it was my fault.

Stupid hummer driver. Who charged sixty miles an hour on a winding road?

But it was my fault. I had kicked the soccer ball. I had intentionally kicked it into the road, in revenge for teasing.

I had killed him.

“I didn’t mean to.” I whispered again, as the thunder boomed above me.
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