Rain

I had a sister. Her name was Everild. 

She didn't have a very strong constitution. She was like fragile plant. She easily withered away if picked upon. 

She never actually had a pretty face. She was always gaunt looking. Her dark circles never lightened. Her skin sometimes was so grey it felt like she was rotting. 

Our parents weren't much kind to my sister. A lot less kind from how they were to me. 

There was a reason for that. 

My sister was supposed to die soon. Mama and Papa just didn't want to deal with her any more than the bare minimum. 

Sometimes they would even refuse to acknowledge her presence at the dinner table. Mama would often look her way and say that something 'smelled like dead rats over there. 

My sister never showed any signs of sadness or anger. She had never thrown a tantrum. She never even uttered a single word to our parents. 

Her indifference to treatment was more like acceptance of defeat than silent anger. 

One hot night during summer, it started raining. I have always loved the rain. It relieved the summer heat for some days. 

My sister knocked on the door of my room. I opened it for her. She was always well mannered. 

"I cooked for you, " she said in her little sweet voice. She had an alluring voice filled with kindness. 

"You remembered I love hot food when it rains, " I said. "As always. "

She didn't smile. She never did. She always had an indifferent face. 

"Come eat, " she said before leading the way to kitchen. 

"What did you make today, Everild? " I asked after the delicious smell entered my nose. 

"Meat, " she said. 

We sat down and ate as we watched the rain fall from the kitchen window. 

Done with the meal, we headed back to bed. 

Everild died the next day. 

Papa was the only one who went to attend the funeral with me. Mama wasn't there at the funeral. Well it was a given as she hated Everild the most. 

Years passed. Mama left and never came back. Papa drowned in misery at the falling apart family. 

I left the house for college. 

I rarely missed Everild. Adult life sure makes you forgetful. Her memories became more and more blurry as Mama's did. 

I got married. My husband was a loving man. We had a daughter. 

Papa passed away alone in the family house. I never visited him. He must've been lonely at his last moments. 

After 11 years, I came back to the family house with my family. It was the same as ever. Papa took great care of the house. 

It was a particularly hot summer day. As the sun set, clouds started to gather. 

It was the nostalgic rain. I felt like that after so long. 

My daughter came into my room. My husband was in the shower. 

"What is it, sweetheart? " I asked her as she raised her arms to be picked up. 

"Mama, " she cooed, snuggling into my neck. "Why didn't you tell me I had a sister? "

"But Mama and Papa have only one baby and that's you, " I hugged her. 

"No!! She was sick so she always stayed with grandpa! She told me!" my daughter shouted. 

"Sweetie, I'm telling you. There is only you, " I started felling a strange strength in her little hands. 

"She said she had something to tell you. "

"Is that so? What is it? " I asked playing along with her. 

I could hear the rain falling outside. 

"Everild says she's sorry for feeding you Mama, " my daughter said before she started choking me. 

That wasn't the strength of a child. And more frightening was the fact that I could see in her face, the face of Everild. 

Rain fell. I was dying deprived of air. My chest was burning. 

My husband pulled our daughter away from me. Throwing her on the bed, he pressed on my chest. 

As I regained my breathes, I saw my husband carrying me out of the room to the car. 

He locked the door of our room and we left for the hospital. 

Before finally losing consciousness in the car, I faintly saw Papa's face in my husband's. He was apologizing. 

Three months passed in the hospital. I had a trachea rupture and severe internal bleeding. 

My husband told me that he had no recollection of that night and how he brought me to the hospital. 

Our daughter lost her legs. 

She cut off her own legs and cooked them and ate them. 

Me and my husband were horrified. 

As the truth dawned upon me, I vomited and cried. 

That rainy night all those years ago, Everild never cooked for me. There was no sister to begin with. 

I was the one who killed my mother and cooked her and ate her that night. The meat was her. 

The funeral I attended with Papa wasn't Everild's, it was Mama's. 

And Papa was apologizing for never telling me the truth. 

Rain is a traumatic memory for me now. 

We left the house. 

But, we didn't sell it. 

I wanted no one else to have a sister.