My Sanity

This is a short story I wrote for my ninth grade English class. It is about a girl who loses her sister to a car crash and how she copes with the loss.

I stood up, slammed my hands down on the table. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted anything but this. I wanted to go back in time a fix all this. I just wanted and wanted and wanted. 

That is the way I felt when my mother told me my sister had died. 

I was angry, angry beyond belief as my mother said she'd been hit by a car walking home. At first I was most angry at myself. I was supposed to be walking with her but I had gone to hang out with friends instead. 

Then my mother said the driver had hit her and driven off. A hit and run.

Then she stated if the man had gotten out of the car to help, or even just called paramedics, she would have lived. My beautiful baby sister would have lived. That is the point where if I had had any hate left, it would have been directed at him. But I had no hate left to give. I only had hollow emptiness. 

I felt sick, burning with shame for humanity. What had we become when people would leave dying girls in the street without so much as an are you okay shot in their direction? The answer: nothing. Humanity was nothing to me because I had only emptiness. 

Empty thoughts ran through my head. Then the questions started. Why her? She had been the nicest person I had ever known. Why did some guy in a car feel like he had the right to take her life? Why had no one helped her? Did she die alone? What did it feel like? Was she scared? I shook myself violently. Those were questions I would never get answers. And questions I never wanted to ask again. 

Life became hard. I couldn't walk down the street or around the house without memories of her assaulting my senses. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror anymore. 

On the street it was her laugh as she told me to lighten up and live a little. Or the time I had tripped and my backpack had fallen into the calm yet angry river next to the path. We'd spent the whole day trying to fish it out. Once we had we were four miles from home on a hill near a turn in the river. We collapsed in the soft and welcoming grass. The sun had begun to set and she had laughed. Her laugh sounded like tinkling bells ringing in my ears. Just soft enough to not be annoying. The sunset had bathed her face in a warm glow. For a moment it looked as though the light were radiating from within her. It made her look like an angel. The thought had made me laugh. 

Now it just felt like a cold and solid truth. 

In the house, everywhere reminded me of her. The kitchen, where she used to make breakfast. The living room where she used to sit cross-legged and do her homework. She was everywhere. The only place that did not remind me of her was my bedroom. She had never been allowed inside. It was my only place of comfort and even then I had had to take down all the mirrors in my room. The spots where they used to hang were darker than the other parts of the wall and it bothered me. But looking at my grey eyes and short dark brown hair everyday only reminded me of her auburn curls and light grey eyes that filled with happiness at the sight of our family. 

In a way, I became used to the patches of color on my walls. They reminded me of the scars of loss and guilt my heart would bear until the day I joined my sister wherever she had gone.  

When I could remain hollow no longer, when the tears finally spilled and my heart finally allowed itself to break, the pain of losing her finally overwhelming me, my mother became my angel. 

The saving grace I had never expected. 

She brought me my salvation by telling me we were moving. Leaving this painful place of memory. At first I was relieved. Then the angel grew a black shadow. She told me we were moving from my beautiful island home altogether. 

Leaving Elketa was never a possibility in my mind. I loved the island that was just off the coast of Norway. Loved its sandy beaches and winding rivers. The trees and the native wildlife. Loved the language we spoke, Swedish. Loved it all and could never bear to leave it. Suddenly, I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my life. I would not, no, I could not leave this place. 

The tears began to slip down my face before I had even noticed them. My mother began to cry then repeating over and over,"I know. I know it's hard for you. But, but..." 

It was then that I realized I needed to be strong. Strong for her, even if I could not remain so on the inside. I would be strong. Steeling my will I attempted to comfort her. It was mostly successful. 

When my mother had gone I began to pack. I had four days, four days to pack up my life and move on. Four days before I would leave my home. 

And when four days passed I did exactly that. I picked up and moved on. 

I do not remember the car ride to the airport, the plane ride itself, the stopovers, nothing. I remember nothing of any of the ride to our house. I cannot remember unpacking, or picking a home or anything of the sort. 

However, I do remember how odd Utah seemed to me. It was a place of closeness and yet it had a sense of exclusion. Religion is predominant here. If you are not a part of the religion you are not a part of many things. It is not that the people purposely exclude you if you are not religious. It is more that you exclude yourself. You feel as though you cannot be yourself near them or that you are walking on fiberglass. I don't like that about Utah, the exclusion. 

Whats more, everyone drives everywhere. It is frightening. I am afraid walking to this new school that I will share a fate similar to my sisters if I am not careful. 

And in the school I fit in nowhere. In Elketa there had been no groups, no "emo" or "prep." There were simply not enough children for that to happen. Everyone was a part of every group. I used to be included in everything. That is not how things work in Utah. It made school hard. 

My first day of school went all right in my opinion. The groups here were odd and numerous, and I had no idea where I would fit into any of them. No idea. So I stuck to myself. Until lunch that is. I ended up sitting in an isolated corner of the room with just myself for company. I thought I might be able to maintian my solitude for a little while longer but two girls approached me and I knew that my rein of silence was over.

English may have been an offishal Elketan language but in my particular corner of the island Swedish was predominant. It's not that I dont speak English, I just dont speak it very well. So when one of the girls asked my name, I had trouble formulating a response. 

"Ella. My name 's Ella,"I finally ground out. 

"That's so pretty!! Wow!! Well Ella I'm Bea!!! So, like, where are you from?" Bea spoke loudly and quickly. 

"Uh...Yeah, thn'ks," I spoke slowly while still trying to decipher her words," 'M from a Elketa. 'S a little off t'e coast of Norway." In speaking I noticed my accent grew heavy if I spoke for a long time. 

"That's so cool! You're from sooo far away!! Norway is like, way far away! And your accent! Oh my lord!! I love love love it!!" Bea said bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. 

"Calm down Bea, your speaking too fast. Ella is new to the language. Give her time to decipher your words," the second girl said. 

"Sorry!" Bea looked at me apologetically. 

The girl looked at me then,"Hello. I'm Himiko. Please excuse Bea. She gets a little overexcited. So, what language do you speak predominantly?" 

"Swedish,"I said, keeping it simple. 

"Ah I see," said Himiko,"I don't speak Swedish but I've heard It's a beautiful language. I am sorry."

"Oh! 'T's not your fault! 'S mine. Should'a brushed up on my Engl'sh," I said cursing my heavy accent. 

"Don't worry about it!! We'll totally help you out!! Totally!" Bea said excitedly,"So, you got any questions for me?"

"Umm, Jus' one. What does t'tally mean?" I asked. 

Bea and Himiko began to laugh. At first I was bewildered and frustrated. Then Bea explained it meant definitely or absolutely. At that point, I began to laugh as well. And it felt nice, to finally laugh. I hadn't laughed since my sister had died and it felt like a release. 

We found that we shared a lot of classes together. My life at school suddenly seemed a lot easier. 

It stayed that way until I got home. 

When I opened the door I could tell no one was home. The house had a certain feel of emptiness about it. I knew my parents were at work so I settled into my homework. About an hour later it was done. I began preparing dinner. Once the steak was on the grill I went searching for my laptop. Most people in my old town did not have cell phones but they did have laptops and emails. I wanted to see if any of them had sent me an email. 

When I logged on I had two new emails. One from an anonymous person and the other was from Bea who I had given my email earlier that day. I opened Beas first. Her email pretty much explained that she and Himiko would give me english lessons on tuesdays and thursdays. I replied to her with a sounds great and left it at that. 

Then I moved on to the anonymous email. The first thing I noticed was it was in Swedish. I thought it odd since originally I had thought it may have just been meant for another email. Yet as I read it, I knew it was for me. Four words, du dodade din syster. You killed your sister. I sat perfectly still. I couldn't tear my eyes away from those terrible words. I wanted to scream but then my mother walked into the house. I quickly shut the laptop. She did not need to see that terrible message. No, that message was for me and me alone. I said nothing to her as I set about preparing dinner and she said nothing to me. It was comfortable, that silence. 

My father entered the house twenty minutes later while I was setting the table. Three place mats, three plates, three cups, three people. I often had to remind myself that my sister was no longer with us. We sat and ate in silence. My family hardly ever spoke to each other nowadays, in fact, we hardly even saw each other. 

When we had finished I cleaned all the dishes and went to bed. 

The next day I headed to school, the day passed uneventfully. I told no one about the email, but after school I headed home and immediately checked my email. Two emails from anonymous. The same four words in each. You killed your sister. I closed the laptop and set about my normal routine, trying to forget those devastating words. I refused to acknowledge them, even to wonder about the person sending them. Homework, dinner, bed. I felt like a robot. 

When I checked the next day, Wednesday, there were three. I didn't dare open them. Those four words already haunted haunted me. 

The pattern continued. Each day the sender would send as many emails as days had passed. On the forty second day , I told Bea. 

"Bea,"I stopped her in the hall,"I need to talk to you. Mind c'min with me a minute?"

"Huh? Yeah sure Ella. No problem,"she followed me to a secluded hallway. 

"Bea, some weirdo has been sending me emails. They all say the same thing and each day the number of emails increases by one,"I started. My accent was slowly leaving with the help of the English lessons. 

"What do they say?" Bea asked slowly.

"You killed your sister,"I sated. I had already told Bea and Himiko about my sister and her death. 

Bea gasped. Just as surprised as I was that someone would stoop so low. 

"Ella, that's bullying!!! You have to report it! I'll go with you! Then we can find the creep that's been doing this to you!" Bea turned to leave, to tell the police or really anyone that would listen to her. I grabbed her arm. 

"Please don't tell Bea! I don't need to cause my parents any more trouble!"I was desperate, almost begging her.

She paused,"Okay Ella. I wont tell. But, if you need anything don't hesitate to ask me or Himiko. We will always be there for you, always."Bea said smiling. 

"Okay," I said smiling. I turned to walk towards my next class and then halted,"and Bea. Thank you."

I made it through another week with Bea and Himiko's support. It was not until the forty eighth day that I told my mother.  

"Mom, I think someone has been bullying me," I said slowly. 

It was the first time I had spoken to my mother since she told me we were moving. I had tried to speak to her other times but our conversations were always interrupted by my father. He would yell at me whenever I tried to start a conversation with her.

 He'd say things like,"Ella! Quit talking to yourself! Your mother isn't here anymore!" 

I never understood why he would say things like that. Couldn't he see her standing right in front of him? Didn't he know she was still here in the house with us? But never mind him. It was just me and mom at home now. 

"Really? That's horrible! What's going on?" my mother responded to my statement with questions. 

"A person, I don't know who, keeps sending me emails that say I killed Emma," I said, finally after almost a year of avoiding it uttering my sisters name.

"Ah, so you have been getting them then,"my mother had her back facing to me. Now she turned around. She was holding a knife. A long slender carving knife. 

"W-what are you saying? M-mom? Wh-what are you talking about?"I asked while backing away slowly.

"I sent you those emails! And I'll kill you! Make it look like you commit suicide because of bullying. Kill you just like I killed Emma!"she shouted. 

"You killed her?"I asked. Suddenly all my fear was gone, only anger remained. 

"Yes," she said smugly. She was proud of her work, proud no one had figured it out. 

I leapt at her. This woman was no longer my mother. I wanted her dead. Dead like the sister I had loved so much that she had killed so mercilessly. I could never forgive her for that, never. 

I grabbed her hair and pulled her this way and that. She regained control of the situation fairly quickly and jumped on me. I clawed and kicked and screamed, she bit and punched and yelled. We were everywhere in the house,breaking everything. Including ourselves. 

When the police broke down the door I felt relieved. They must have come to help me. I took a shaky step towards them. They started shooting.

 But something was wrong, they weren't shooting at my mother they were shooting at me. 

I barely had time to wonder why before the bullets began grazing my skin and I blacked out. 

When I woke up next it was only halfway and I was in a hospital. I could hazily see my mother standing behind the doctor. The doctor began speaking.

"Ella?"he asked.

I could not respond. My body would not function properly. I felt sluggish and almost paralyzed. It was an odd feeling. The sluggishness. I could barely even feel the bed beneath me. I could not feel,move or see clear. Yet I could hear. The words entering my brain were still a little hazy but I could hear them nonetheless. The doctor was speaking to my father outside the door. 

"She thinks her mother is still alive,"my father said.

"But your wife and other daughter died in the accident right?"the doctor asked. 

"Yes, Ella was the only survivor and she barely pulled through. The doctor thought she would die,"my father stated. 

"Could be post traumatic stress then. Maybe schizophrenia. We wont know until the test results come back,"the doctor stated. 

My father sighed,"Thank you anyway doctor."

I couldn't listen anymore. What were they saying? They were crazy! I hadn't been in that accident! My mother hadn't died! Didn't they see her standing right next to me? She was so close! 

Then why hadn't the doctor noticed her? 

Thoughts and questions raced through my head and I had no answers to any of them. It became too much to think about and the stress of it all caused me to black out. 

When I woke up again it had been a week. I woke completely coherent to everything going on around me. My mother was still standing next to me. 

A question raced through my head.

Why had nobody acknowledged her presence?

The question threw me off. I pondered it but I had no answer. 

"I don't know,"I said aloud. 

A voice different from the one that had asked the first question said,"He wanted to let her grieve in peace."

Yes, that had to be it. 

"No your crazy,"the first voice said. 

"Is she?"The second asked.

"Who knows but a flower? Does the flower know the truth?" the first giggled. 

The back and forth continued. On and on they spoke. Saying strange things, crazy things. Things like a rose has a thorn but a turkey has a gobbler. Can you tell the difference? 

Between a thorn and a gobbler? 

No, between the flowers and the sky. 

I felt like I was going to go insane. Or was I already there?

"No! No, no, no, no,no!"it took me a moment to realize I was the one screaming. 

Apparently the staff at the hospital noticed for they came in to try to calm me. I had to be sedated. I let the calm blackness envelope me. Let it sooth me. The blackness always made the voices and my mother disappear. I loved the blackness. I was at home there. 

It took them a little over a month to figure out what I had. And since I was so heavily sedated, I still don't know. 

All I know is that the pills they give me everyday make the voices and my ever present, ever silent mother disappear. Its like having the blackness envelope me and protect me while I'm still awake. 

It took me about three weeks to recover enough to be moved to the nuthouse. Oh excuse me, "clinic," as they say. I don't feel like I'm in a clinic. I feel like the word clinic belongs more to sports events than crazy people. I feel like nut house gets the job done nicely. Explaining why we are all here and why you should stay away at the same time. A little two birds with one stone action. 

While I am here they tell me things about my world. As the call it. In other words the world I lived in during the terrible years after my mother and sisters deaths. They told me that Bea and Himiko weren't real. They were birds. Birds my father had bought me after my sister and mother had died. Birds my father bought because he thought the house was too quiet. 

They also told me that Elketa was not a place I had ever lived. In fact, there is no such island off the coast of Norway. I had never left Sandy and I did not speak Swedish. It felt odd to me that my head had managed to recreate the Swedish language without me really ever learning it in the first place. The one thing the doctors said I had right was the language I had never spoken and yet could speak fluently. 

I had apparently not gone to school in a year. I wondered if anyone missed me. Or if I were even still enrolled in my old school the year I went insane. It had been four years since the accident. I had woken up a year and a half ago. My father had almost lost me, regained me, and almost lost me again. 

I have almost recovered now. It has been three years since I was admitted. I had to fight to get every memory of mine back. It was no picnic. Picking through the mangled memories with the voices and my mother trying to hold me back. I had done it though. Now I remember most of what really went on during the year I was insane. Like how the police had found me wrestling with a lamppost and screaming you killed her while smashing everything I could get my hands on. I think its funny now that I know what I was really doing and how crazy I looked, and was. 

I have to fight myself sometimes to keep them though. That can be just as hard as getting them was. And sometimes I lose one all over again and have to go searching through the muck for it. The pills I take help me with keeping the memories though. 

The pills I take now I'll always have to take. They help keep my mother and the voices locked away. The dosage has been significantly lowered however. A sign that I'm improving. 

I can function and think on my own now. My father comes to visit me regularly and I'm so glad he does. I think if he hadn't been there to encourage me every step of the way I would never have even tried to get better. I would still be in that dark place. 

Even now there are days when I want to slip back into the world I created. I want to just give in and let the insanity rule me. But I don't. I have a father that needs me as much as I need him. We are the only family we have left. 

I have to fight myself. It's always a constant battle. But I can honestly say I don't think I will ever return to that place again. 

Author's Note

I am aware my grammar needs major improvement so do bare with me on that one. ^^