When I was a little girl, my mother told me that no one ever really died. But that the shine in their eyes is pulled up in the sky and that we call them stars.
That's what I told my father at her funeral. Things changed after that. Dad worked all the time and my twin sister shut herself in her room and away from the world. Sometimes when I would press my ear against the wall, close my eyes and lay my palm on the wall, she would do the same and it almost felt like it had before mom died. Instead of being in bed, we'd do this and mom would find us asleep against our separate bedroom walls in the morning. My twin didn't do it much anymore. Most of the time I would cook dinner, hoping she would come out and eat with me, or that dad would come home from work. She never did. Neither did he. But I always left a light on for dad, and I always stopped by to say goodnight to her.
I suppose it just wasn't enough, because when I went to go say goodnight to her, she didn't answer. The only thing I heard, walking into her pitch-black room, was buzzing. And when I flicked on the light, my twin's face stared back at me with flies crawling in her mouth. I thought she had been sneaking out and eating. I guess I was wrong