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by Syphis
Rated: E · Sample · Philosophy · #778135
This is an exert from one of my short "books" called "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,
" It is your fault grandpa is dead"
" If you had just come in when he called"
" He wouldn't have fallen"
" He wouldn't have hit his head"
" And he wouldn't have DIED!!!"
DING. At the last strike she began to cry, she screamed, and I died inside.
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