I Know Nothing She is sick. In the hospital once again. I hold her hand. Can she feel me? Can she feel the warmth of my hand holding her cold one? I know she is alive. I see her breathing. Her chest rising up and down, only barely. I feel life in her hand. I know she is alive. And then, one day, she is awake. Awake, her eyes open, even if they see nothing. I smile at her. I know she sees nothing but I am sure she knows how I smile. I tell her how things are going and I can see her thin lips slowly turn up into a smile. A weak smile. And I can tell she is alive. And then, we are home. She is in her room, lying on her bed. Machines plugged into her. She is still weak. So weak. But she is alive. She sleeps so much. At night, I can hear Mama and Papa talking about the expenses and I think she can too, even if her eyes remain closed. And I still know she is alive. And then she is tired. So tired. Everyday more. But she is alive. I know, because when Mama and Papa are whispering and sobbing quiet tears, I stay with her, I lay on her bed and watch over her. I am her guardian angel. I stroke her face, although weak and weary, it is still beautiful. And I hold her hand as she sleeps, so she knows I am guarding her slumber. She is the most beautiful. And I know she is alive. And then, she is less tired. Less and less until she can even stand up on her own. Never for too long but it is a progress, Mama says. She gets stronger. And I am happy because now I know she is alive and she will live. And then, Mama and Papa whisper again, so much more, and they cry in the shadows. Are they not happy she is well? They talk about expenses. Can their minds never wander from those? And I know she hears them talking, even from the depths of her bedroom, I now she hears them talking, too. But I know she is alive. She is alright.
And the, she is not. At night I lay with her still, as she sleeps and Mama cries. Until one night, I fall asleep with her. And when I open my eyes again, she is gone. And I don’t know where she is. I search for Mama, but she and Papa are gone. I search for her, frantic now, crying now in fear. And then, I find her. Away from her bed and everything else. I can see in her eyes that she is blind to her surroundings, even in her soul. I rush to her and take her hand, which is dampened with her blood. It’s limp and it’s cold. And then, I know. She is not alright. She is not alive. She is dead. And the razor sits by the bathtub, Papa’s razor, and the blood still pours from her limp and helpless arm which I clutch to my chest as I cry. Her blood is on my nightgown now but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. And as I wail, I ask her why. Why she left me alone. Why she chose to abandon me. Why she never said anything. And I realise, I don’t know anything. And then, I know the truth. It’s all my fault. I should have asked her or Mama or Papa. I was her guardian angel. I was supposed to watch over her and take care of her, and I had failed. Mama and Papa finally come, after what feels like hours of me crying. They try to tear me away but they can’t. My grip is too strong on her lifeless body. Mama finally gets me away but I wail and I scream and I cry. And it’s all for her. Every tear. And I know nothing. And then, it’s been a week. And she has been buried, her lifeless body is gone. And I haven’t left my room in days. I don’t eat and i don’t sleep. I just cry and I think and I pray. Mama and Papa say there is a God. I am not sure there is a God anymore because if there were, he wouldn’t have taken her from me. She was too young. Only fourteen, not nearly old enough. But if there is a God, I hope he hears me and helps me somehow. I don’t know in what way but I hope he does. But if he hears me, I don’t know. And then, I finally come to the realisation that I don’t know anything. I used to know so much. I knew she was alive, i knew she would live, I knew that we would grow old together as sisters
should and I knew so much more. And now, I don’t know who she was. Who I am. Who anyone is and why they are here. What purpose do we serve on this Earth if there is no one to tell us who we are and what to do? And I pray for her. Every day. But I don’t know how to pray anymore. Because it didn’t work before, I’ve forgotten how to believe and hope. And I know nothing. I know nothing. Nothing.