Broken: Emily's Story

13

I can hear Ellie crying. I run into her room. She's doubled over, coughing up blood. I pick her up and run out the door. I just run.

I get to my father's hospital and run through the ER, panting. The lady at the desk looks up at me. May I help you? She asks.

My sister is coughing up blood. As I say that, Ellie coughs on me. The lady nods and calls on the intercom for Dad.

Dad comes out and seeing Ellie, his eyes widen. He immediately takes her from my arms and runs back through the doors. I try to follow, but security holds me back.

I start screaming and crying. I have to help her. Finally, I just fall on the floor.

Hours pass. I watch the doors. Neither Dad nor Ellie come out.

My mom comes in and I start crying again. She pulls me into a hug.

My Dad comes out with his dead, vacant eyes. She's gone, he says.

What happened? I ask.

He holds out his hand, This was lodged in her throat.

And there's that blade again, covered in her blood. The blade that caused my mother to howl every night. The blade that caused my Dad to quit his job, to become a drunk. The blade that tore my family apart. The blade that took Ellie.

I wake up on her floor, still holding that stupid fox. I grab the fox and go back to my room. I place the fox on my bed and close my door.

I pull my hoody off and throw it on my floor. An image flashes across my eyes. I brace myself on my desk. I squeeze my eyes shut. A memory plays across my eyes. A memory from a month ago.

Dad was out of town, doing who knows what. My mom was my job. I had just got home. I made her a dinner I knew she'd never eat.

I brought her dinner up to her room, which seemed strangely quiet. I opened her door and nearly dropped her food. The room was trashed. Papers all over her floor, clothes scattered everywhere. A spilled glass of water lay on the bed. But no mom.

Mom? I called. I turn around and head to Ellie's room. I open the door. She's not there either. I open the bathroom door. I notice the light is on. I draw back the shower curtain. I stand there stunned.

My mom is in the tub, her blood mixing with the water. A knife rests on the bottom of the tub. I can tell she ain't gonna respond to shit. But I can tell she's still alive. She's still bleeding.

Her phone sits on the bathroom sink. I grab it and dial 911. A few minutes later, the ambulance picks her up.

She never came back.