The Other Half of My Heart

Chapter One: My Sister

Chapter One: My Sister

I picked my pocket knife off of my desk. I fingered it, rolling it in between my fingers, just feeling it. I thought about who else used it. I stared at it in the mirror, watching it roll in my fingers. What had it been used for? Maybe it had been for something as simple as cutting fruit. Maybe it had taken someone's life away, leaving the person's family as empty and alone as I felt.

The knife was smooth, yet it was hard. it was pretty on the outside, yet if you opened it up, it was dangerous. It could kill, it could be used for harming someone, or just for showing off. It could be used to threaten someone... This pocket knife was dangerous, yet I still had it. The small silver blade settled on the palm of my hand after I pulled it out, testing its sharpness.

I had gotten it at a garage sale. They were using all the money they got to donate to hospitals to fight for breast cancer. I paid seven dollars and donated the rest of my small amount of money, four small, green, paper bills worth only one hundred cents. It wasn't much, but it was what I had.

Their lawn had been nice, and I remembered picking a rose from the garden with my sister. We should have known better, for we got into major trouble. We had simply cut the stem using our pink ribboned pocket knife. The flower was very beautiful. It was so gorgeous, yet it still had thorns. thorns ready to prick you and make you bleed.

A pink heart sticker had been placed on the side, and I rubbed my finger on it as I thought about this. The sticker was worn from me having done this a lot lately. My life felt like it had been turned upside down and the contents had been drained, Tasha being the content.

My twin sister, Tasha, had died yesterday. It should have been expected, as she was showing all the signs of suicide, but I was in shock still. I had not expected her to die the way she did. I had not wanted her to die. I loved my sister more than anything else in the world and she died.

It seemed that God could simply take away what we loved with a sweep of his hand and never worry about it again. He stole my sister, she was mine, and he took her from me.

One single, lone tear slid down my face. She had been my best friend. We did everything together. Another tear slid down my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was her mirror. Once today, I had looked at myself in the mirror and thought it was her. I was hurt to discover it was not her.

My white/blond curly hair reflected hers. I looked too much like her. I placed my hand on the mirror and stared at our turquoise eyes. The color of the eyes that stared back were so vibrant, but at the same time they were calm and soothing to look at.

A faint smile taunted my lips as I remembered a tall guy teasing us, since we were so short. We had only been 5'2", and the guy had been around 6'6".

The only difference between us had been that she was suicidal. She was going to die. She did die, leaving me to be alone forever. Nobody loved a weak and worthless person, that's what she had always said. I was as good as broken, and nobody loved a shattered soul.

My sister had hated being in her state. Not only had she felt awful, everyone had treated her like she was fragile. That had been what she hated most. She was head-strong, why did she deserve to be treated weak? She had asked me this multiple times. I had never found an answer for her. How could I? She was dying, but I had not wanted to say that!

I told her I wouldn't treat her as if she was weak. I treated her like nothing was wrong. We went out to the park, talked about boys, even though she knew she wanted to die, she made my life, my crushes, a priority, she never wanted to talk about herself. It was always about me. The only thing she refused to do, was to do anything mild or tame.

As she said 'If these are my last days, I am going to enjoy them, not die of boredom as well.' I had laughed, but it was not funny now, because she was dead. I didn't get why she had said that when she did, but now I did. She took her own life, leaving a big, empty void in mine. My sister was dead. Remorse swept over me, leaving me feeling guilty yet completely, and utterly alone.

We had both agreed when we were thirteen that we would die together as old dog ladies. We would die together with seventy-two dogs. We both didn't like cats. They had sharp claws, and they had scratched up her arms when she was petting a one once. From that moment on we both hated the little devils.

We would've died together, now I would die alone. I should have died with her. I hated living without her. I had lost the will to live. There was no point in living without her.

Tears silently slid down my face. I didn't know she was actually going to do it. She was always so strong. And to think that Viola, the strongest person that I knew, would do this, then who else would?

"Hello," Her voice said from my bed.

I turned around. "Hello, Viola," I said quietly, still hurting that she was not physically alive.

"How are you?" She murmured.

"Awful!" I exclaimed, and burst out sobbing. My heart ached for me to hug my sister, but my arms would go through her. This thought hurt me deeply.

"I'm sorry I died. I miss you so much." She said, and tried to stroke my hair. Her hand went through, which made me cry even harder.

Footsteps were audible as my mom rushed upstairs to me. She threw open my door and sat on my sister in which I felt like I would die from crying. My sister merely moved, but I was hurt. My mom pulled me in and stroked my hair gently, prying the pocket knife from my fingers. I had forgotten that I even had it.

My mother helped me undress and dress into pajamas. Neither of us spoke as she set me in bed and pulled the blanket over me. She switched the light off and kissed my cheek. "It'll all be better soon. I promise." she whispered, and went out of the room, crying. She slammed my door shut, and when I looked to find my sister, she was gone, again. I hurt everywhere, and I trembled in my bed. It was so cold in my bed without my sister next to me, giggling and talking.

Why did she do this?! Why couldnt she have been okay? What had happened that made her so miserable? Tears poured off of my face and onto my pillow. I couldn't stop crying, the thought that she had felt more alone than I did now put me in too much pain to fathom.