What Does A Bloody Knife, A Gun, And A Dead Sister Have To Do With Me?

This is a story i wrote at school Recently it is about a girl named Kendra dealing with the loss of her Dead Sister after years of depression.

    It was April 16, 2007 in Brooklyn New York. I was 8 years old and I was walking home with my 5 year old little sister. As we passed the local high school P.S.619, I saw a car coming our way. Before I could do anything I heard 3 sounds I never want to hear again. The sound of a gun going off. A painful, ear bleeding scream, and the sound of my little sister falling to the ground with a thud. After that it felt like everything stopped around me. The only thing that was still moving  were my tears. My hands were frozen as I saw the dark crimson red blood on my hands.
    That day changed everything. I fell into a depression. Everyday was quiet. My parents started to worry. I hardly ever saw them. I am now 16 years old.  After school I went straight to my room. Not saying a word to my parents. I went into my bathroom and took out the stainless steel blade. My knife. One cut after another. The blood running down the sink.
    I grabbed the towel next to me and held it tight against my arm. The gushing  blood from the cuts slowing down to a stop. But before I could make another cut; another engraving on my arm. My mom barged in. She stared at me with sorrow and confusion in her eyes. Then she looked at the bloody knife in my hands, her eyes going from confused to worried.
    I looked down ashamed of myself. I was also feeling guilty. But in the back of my mind I was mad thinking she wouldn’t understand. That she would never understand. The   guilt of letting your little sister die. The guilt of not take the bullet for her. It was too much. All of my thoughts taking over the best of my emotions. I started to cry. The tears burned my eyes, while they fell on the knife that was still gripped tight between my fingers. I felt loving arms around me. I eased into the touch but I was still crying . I looked up at my mother.

    “ Im sorry” that`s all I said.
    I was sorry for letting her daughter die. I was sorry for cutting. I was sorry for everything. It was like I was confessing my sins and asking for forgiveness. I didn’t care if she forgave me. I just wanted to say sorry. My mom lifted up my chin so I could look her in the eyes.
    “ Its okay. Its okay” she was saying over and over in my ear. What does a bloody knife, a gun, and a dead sister have to do with me? Well the knife is for my blood on the knife and it is my escape. The gun is what made me this way that gun changed my life. And a dead sister? A dead sister is Sarah. Sarah Johnson. The little girl who died on April 16 2007. She was 5 years old. She was a friend, a daughter, and a sister. MY SISTER. That is what they have to do with me. Kendra. Kendra Johnson

Reviews

[Willow]

This is well done, and quite touching. There are a few things I would nit-pick about, but only because I'm insane. Like... the use of numbers for example. "Three is much more attractive than 3" somehow. Also, in the first paragraph you use the word 'hands' twice in the same sentence. Otherwise, great job. I look forward to reading more of your writing.

[Steve]

VEry well done....you sound like a pro

[Jim Parson]

This was very powerful and moving. The love and the pain and the anguish are all made palpable through your words. You've written this with truth. Well done.