it was a maybe someday

(Written on March 28th.)

Maybe it’s my fault things have gotten this bad. Maybe I should have told her not to go to the woods that windy afternoon in mid October.

                Maybe she would still be alive. Sweet smiles, pink cheeks. Not cold, not dead.

                I think it’s my fault I decided not to listen to the husky voice of the wind. I think I shouldn’t have shaken the chills away, nor should I have ignored my inner voice, the one that told me something was not as okay as I thought it was.

                If I had said “no” and had stuck to that “no”, maybe my sister would be here having dinner with me and talking about Matt and how she was sure they were meant to be together and he didn’t know it yet.

                I dream about her sometimes. She’s at the highest cloud and she’s telling me she’s fine. She’s smiling and then I feel things can be fine. But then there are those nights when her screams wake me up, sweat in my forehead. Those screams, muffled by the deep woods haunt my sleep very often.

                I could have told her it was already too dark to go in there. I stood by the lake instead, holding hands with Luke, our old neighbor. He moved out a few weeks after Delilah’s death.

                It is still hard to face the word knowing now what it truly means. Death. There’s nothing I could do not to face it as it is. I feel it; I’ve jumped into the deepest hole and feel the word and its full meaning. I can’t erase the sounds of her begging to be spared.

                I didn’t spare her. Maybe I would have, if only I had paid attention. I’m pretty sure I was the one that didn’t spare her. May as well have been the one who sentenced Delilah to her end.

                I screamed too, but it was too late. I screamed in shock as I saw her with those pale eyelids covering her pretty dark eyes. Eyes I would never see shining again. Maybe it is my fault, after all.

                I feel the stares when I go out. It’s been three months. People didn’t forget it; I feel them look at me with pity; I’m sure some of them blame me as well.

                Maybe I guessed too late how much I miss her.

                There’s nothing to be done, they tell me. And when they do, I can’t help but think to myself, “but I could have done it back then”. I whisper to myself every night: “I could have saved her.”

                Hot, salty tears stain my face. My dinner’s cold.

                I know there’s nothing to be done. But maybe, just maybe, she’s looking at me right now and begging for me to stay strong.

                And finally, maybe she’s waiting for me to go to bed so she can sing me her goodnight lullaby one more time.

Author's Note

Please ignore grammar mistakes.

Reviews

[Ashleigh]

This was very sad and very emotional. Your description gave me a clear picture and it sent chills up my spine. So heart wrenching.