The Plop Tart War

Everyone believes they are living, until they start dying.
At what point do you change?
Alita was my rock in a raging river. If I held on tightly enough, I would never drown.
Then my fingers started slipping and my rock started to break.
My sister left.
And I started dying.

DISCLAIMER: THIS STORY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH PLOP TARTS OR POP TARTS AT ALL AS OF YET, NOR WILL IT EVER, MOST LIKELY. AND NO ONE HAS DIED YET SO THAT'S MISLEADING AS WELL. I ASSURE YOU, THE TITLE WILL MAKE SENSE EVENTUALLY.
Please Critique!!! -QuadriNarShark