I'm messed up. I'm a freak, outcast, loner. My whole body hurts.
I remember when I used to wish that something interesting or bad would happen to me. My stupid wish came true. My first prayer to make it all the way up to God. The first wish that had ever come true for me.
And now my sister is dead, rotting in the wet Oregon soil. And it doesn't feel like she's there with me as I set flowers on her fresh grave. It feels like I drove her to suicide, even though that's not how she died.
It feels like she made a wish, too. And maybe that wish wasn't so different from mine. Maybe it was her first wish to come true, too.
Mom said, as she sobbed, hugging my other sister, "Maybe she wanted this. Maybe she couldn't deal with the pain anymore."
And yet another sister said to me, as if it were appropriate, "I bet you're sorry for all the things you did to her now, huh?"
She needs someone to blame, and she's chosen me, the different one, the freak, the outcast. I want to say something mean, but I can't because I just killed her sister.
And even after all of that stupid, sad shit, here I am, back at the very beginning, hoping that something interesting or bad will happen to me.
And now it has.