Jigsaw

1. Jamil

Four hours.

That was how long I stood in that room that reeked of antiseptic and heart wrenching sadness, staring down at my sister's cold body. Her full head of thick curly hair that had always turned heads when we passed by, looked shriveled now. Her chubby cheeks looked drained of all their glow. The yellow dress I had helped her zip up this morning was scarlet now. It was glued to her body, seeming to have lost its vibrant colour. She looked so peaceful, no tell-tales of the frisky, upbeat girl she used be.

The clock on the tainted cream walls kept ticking as time dragged by, increasing my anxiety. My legs were going numb from how long I'd been standing. The horrid blue button up shirt Jane had picked out, was sticking to my hot and clammy skin.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and reached for her hand, flinching at the iciness of it. I squeezed it tightly, wishing she'd open her eyes and laugh that laugh that always brightened up the dullest of rooms. But her hand remained limp in mine. I caught a glimpse of her nails, noticing she'd applied the nail polish I'd gotten her last week. I smiled

"I told you we shouldn't have gone there. Now see what happened. Wake up Jane, please? I don't want Mom to scold me alone. Hey.."

Nothing.

I adjusted my glasses and chuckled lowly at the epiphany. My sister was never going to wake up. And it was all my fault.

You killed her.

My subconscious yelled at me and I shook my head viciously, backing away from her. I didn't kill Jane. It was an accident.

The door flew open and my head snapped towards it. My mother stood at the open door, transfixed as she stared at her daughters limp body. My father was behind her but he didn't come in. His eyes went wide with horror when he saw Jane and he quickly looked away, hiding his face in his hands. He gripped his face so tightly I was scared he'd rip it right off.

Then, he looked at me. The look in his eyes seemingly screamed;

"What have you done?"

The accusation in them sent a burning ache through my chest and I shook my head again.

"It wasn't my fault". I choked out.

He gestured for me to go to him and I wasted no time bolting unto his warm embrace. He held me to him, tightly, as if I was going to disappear. I didn't mind tho, as long as they didn't blame me. He let go and led us toward my mother who was wailing loudly. Her gelé was forgotten on the ground and her ankara attire was now stained in red as she hugged Jane's corpse.

A corpse. That's what my sister was now. Just a corpse.

My mother suddenly turned to me, as if just then realizing she still had a child who was still alive. She rushed towards me and buried me in her bossom as she wailed.

They didn't blame me. I was supposed to be relieved at that but I couldn't be. I felt void of any emotion. Like an obsolete tin can.

~~~~~

I felt just the same as they lowered my sister's casket into the dirt. The minister was reading something about the hope of the dead from the bible but I couldn't hear him, the ringing in my ears blocking him out. My hand was in my father's and he gave it a secure squeeze every now and then. I looked up at him but he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were closed as the minister continued with a eulogy.

"Here lies Jane Wilson. She was a vessel of happiness that brought light upon everyone she came across. She was survived by her twin brother, Jamil Wilson---"

I flinched as my name was called and instinctively squeezed my father's hand and he opened his eyes to look down at me. They were red rimmed and puffy, a clear sign that he'd been crying. I looked away from him and back at the minister who looked too old to still be in service. His scruffy voice wafted back into my ears.