Death and Effect

My Grandfathers Urn

Shortly after the funeral, my mother retierd to her room and left my sister, sissy, and I in the study. Sissy was just sitting there, she had marks of running tears down her cheeks and was frowning. I don't think she knew why, I think she only cried and frowned because she saw everyone else doing it. I hated her for it. I looked at her and saw a mirror image of all the other people telling me to "Be respectful." or "Quite down and pay your last respects.". I felt a deep pain inside, what I figured to be, my soul.
By this time she had found an old coloring book, it mainly depicited horses. Sissy, still frowning and intolerably silent, picked up a blue crayon and began to draw.
"Horses aren't blue, you twit" I said
"My horse is blue 'cause he's sad"
"A horse doesn't chage color because of mood"
She sat there and stoped drawing, I saw tears begin to roll down he face. She opened her mouth to speak, but as she did so the clock in the other room struck eight o'clock. I remember each strike, DING, they echoed in my mind, DING
"I hate you" Sissy said,
DING
" It is your fault grandpa is dead"
DING
" If you had just come in when he called"
DING
" He wouldn't have fallen"
DING
" He wouldn't have hit his head"
DING
" And he wouldn't have DIED!!!"
DING. At the last strike she began to cry, she screamed, and I died inside.