Six Word Short Stories

The Smallest Coffins are the Heaviest

"The smallest coffins are the heaviest." Thats what the priest had said. The words racked my brain over and over. Making me cry more and more. I studied the funeral service in my hand, looking at the picture of my sister. Isabella. Killed before she even had a chance to live. I closed my eyes leaning against the seat. 

Her blonde curls appeared. Followed by her eyes, the bluest eyes you'd ever see. And then her smile full of innocence and life. How ironic. Her sundress, pink with tufts of white,  blew in the wind at the park. Her laughter ringing through the air, as mother twirled her. I watched from the bench, setting my book beside me. I joined them setting my four year old sister on my back. She laughed from my back. 

"Faster." She said mid giggle. Oh how I wished  we had kept playing. Maybe if we had stayed later. Maybe those few minutes would've saved her life.  But we hadn't. We left as the clock on my phone read 12:02pm.  

We giggled in the back of the car. My mother looking back at us in her mirror smiling to herself.  Her two daughters, together, for the last time. I wonder if she knew then what was about to happen. If she knew would she have stopped? Would we have ever left the house that day? But, we couldn't possibly know. 

12:17. A text from my best friend, Marcy appeared. I clicked on my phone. Smiling at her message. 

"Why are you laughing." The last words she ever spoke to me. Those precious last words. Oh how I would've savored them if I knew. But, I didn't and so I shook my head dismissing my sisters question. 

"It's just Marcy." I said. 

12:19. Our car collided with another. The sound of metal on metal deafening. My ears were left ringing as people on the street screamed and other cars came to a skidding stop. Our windshield shattered sending shards into my face and arms. The front of our car was smashed flat. The airbag ejected protecting my mother, her own screams filling the air. She screamed for us. First my name and then Isabella's. The car finally stopped. Halfway on a curb and halfway in the street. 

12:21. Isabella wasn't next to me. Her seat belt had been torn from the seats instead shards of glass and metal stuck into the seat. I pulled myself through one of the backseat windows, scratching my legs and arms. 

12:23. I saw her. She was face down on the ground. Her blonde curls damp with blood. Her dress was torn and tufts of white were missing. But, even from this distance I could tell...she wasn't breathing. I ran to her side. Her tiny body was laying in a pool of blood. I pulled her into my lap, stroking her hair away from her face gently.  My tears hit her face, leaving trails behind. 

12:25. A paramedic knelt beside my, gingerly touching my shoulder. 

"We need to look at you dear." Her voice was calm and reassuring. 

"My s..sister she isn't breathing. She wasn't in the car after the crash." I said. My words came out all jumbled and messed up. 

"Its ok dear, but we need to look at you. One of my friends will come take care of your sister." I allowed her to pull me up away from Isabella. Away from the crash. Away from the blood and the wreckage. I glanced once behind me and saw her one last time. And then a medic put a blanket over her body. That's how I knew. 

12:52. I sat in the hospital listening to the faint beeping of the machine mother was hooked up to. It was a steady beeping. Beep Beep Beep . I moved away from my bed and moved toward the window. 

It was only my mother and I now. Isabella was gone. 

They said it was a drunk driver. Mr. Henderson who used to live on our street. They said he was drinking because his wife had decided to divorce him. He didn't make it either. He deserved it. He is the reason my sister was killed. He killed her. 

But I guess that is what the priest meant we he said that. 

"The smallest coffins are the heaviest." They hold the youngest of us. The ones who never deserve to die. Just like my sister. 

She was four years old and she was dead. The smallest coffins really are the heaviest.