Running

I ran. I ran until I couldn't feel my legs. I ran until I could barely breathe. I ran until I was seeing spots. I ran until I reached the front door. I struggled to get my key out, almost dropping it as I rushed to put it in the lock. Pushing the door open, I step inside. I see her sitting on the couch, watching tv. I walk over to her, checking to see if she's awake and breathing. She is. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. She was okay. She was alive. I go into the kitchen, getting ready to make our dinner for the night. I always try to make the best food, knowing each meal might be her very last. Our parents are never home; it's just me and her now. Even though she's older, I look after her more than she does me. I need to keep her safe. She's the only one I have left. She barely speaks anymore, only ever saying please and thank you. I know she's trying to hold on. She's trying to stay here for me, but I can tell how much harder it gets everyday. She's struggling, and so that's why I run.

I'm running again. Running so fast that the laughter from my classmates is almost gone. They don't know the truth, and they never will. I've learned to ignore them. I know what would happen if I let the laughter get to me and slow me down. The day I slow down could be the day she leaves forever. I've learned the fastest way back home. I've figured out the quickest way to get there, cutting through yards and jumping over bushes. I'd probably be great at track if I didn't need to go home everyday as soon as possible. If I didn't need to make sure she was okay. When I finally reach home, I walk in and see her in her usual spot. She's not moving, but I can see the slight rise and fall of her chest. She's breathing. She made it through the day.

I'm running faster than I ever have. I have this feeling that something went wrong. I was on the bus only minutes ago, but then everything seemed to stop. My chest constricted and I felt like I couldn't breathe. It passed as quickly as it came, but I knew what it meant. I'm already pulling out my phone, putting in the numbers for an ambulance. I'm struggling to talk as I continue to run. I'm just finishing with the call when I reach home. I open the door, already knowing what I'm about to find. She's not in her spot. I run up to the bathroom as I hear the sirens outside my house. I hear the footsteps running up the stairs as I cradle my sisters body in my hands. They take her from me, and I follow them back to the ambulance. The ride feels like a million years, when in reality it's only 10 minutes.

I don't go to school for a week. Instead, I make her funeral arrangements. I call the funeral home and I call our parents. They show up only for the funeral before disappearing again. Her obituary was in the newspaper the day I go back to school. I know the reaction I'm going to get from my classmates, but I can't miss another day of school. I walk in the building, my head down. Nobody says anything to me that day, but I see them looking. I ignore everything and just carry on with my day. It passes by slowly, but I'm soon on the bus. It's a short ride, only about 10 minutes. That day, I walk home.