001the things people get attached to. I lost a pen last week. Just a cheap plastic thing, yet it left a hole in my heart. People act like death should mean something. Maybe it does to them. Well, life hasn't been the same since my sister died, but I can't say it's particularly bad. Maybe it's better. Maybe even perfect. Thinking about how life is now, it's not tragic, nor is it boring. It's so close to how I've always wanted it. Now I just have to wait for the others to forget that she's ever existed. Though it might be a while, they ask about her every day. I could do a lot of things I couldn't do before, but not without questioning. People are always shocked when something vanishes, but routines switch themselves back together before long. There
002aren't many things that scare me, but I think a ghost would with a sword haunting me to finally do it. If it was my dead sister, I'd only fear the others knowing the truth. Or this thing I found in the street. I think that actually scares me. But yet, I can't seem to look away. I hated the way she smiled. Hated the way she laughed, hated the way she walked, hated the way she would dance. I hated the way her voice sounded and I hated the way she'd follow me around everywhere. You're always around me all the time to the point nobody even knows my name. >> You don't try. I know you don't. You leech off of everything I do. You took my pens. You took my notebooks. Everything. And And even my friends.
003You can't even make your own friends. They're my friends. Yet they like you more. >> No. What are you talking about? or colorful. They've all assumed she's dead. But when they ask what happened, it's not like I can confess. I did it. I killed my sister.