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Ever since my sister died, life has been a mess. I was ten when it happened, she was only two. It was terrible. It took place at our previous house. It was a beautiful summer's day. The skies were blue and the flowers were all sorts of gorgeous colors. A beautiful day, with terrifying memories.

We were swimming in the pool. She seemed to like watching me dive into the sparkling water. But, as i swam up from the water, I saw a blur. As if someone was in the pool. I was afraid that the blur might be my sister. So, as quickly as i could, I swam towards it. It was her. She was drowning. I pulled her out, but it was too late. I checked for her pulse. Her heart had stopped beating. I panicked.

I suddenly remembered that no one was home. My older brother, Jeff, had already left for his party, and Mom and Dad had left for Auntie Lillie's house (which just happened to be three hours away). I was all alone with a baby's corpse lying in my arms.

I finally called for an ambulance. As I watched my baby sister being taken away in a stretcher by one of the paramedics, I felt guilt and pain. And as if someone was watching me. But, surprisingly, I didn't cry. I knew how my parents would react when i finally decided to tell them. I would probably get blamed for it too.

A few weeks later, Jeff ran away. My parents had gotten divorced. My mother became an alcoholic as well. She would get so drunk she would start beating Jeff and I at times. It was not too long before one of our neighbors called Children's Aid Society. I never see my mother anymore. There are also rumors going around that my brother is in a band and lives in a trailer, shooting heroin when he's not performing.

I no longer swim. I have a fear of pools now. I'm afraid that I might drown someone else, and put them through misery. I also started cutting my wrists. The psycologist said it's because I feel the need to punish myself for my sister's death, or something like that. I don't socialize much either. I just sit down at the computer searching for the word death all day, or chatting to my (very few) friends.

I don't think anything will ever make me feel alive and happy again. Ever. My Dad tries too hard to make me happy sometimes, but I think he finally gave up. It has never worked anyways. I still feel numb. I've lost track of my life. I fear I will never get it back. That I will never feel happiness again. Or have friends.

Sometimes I think of what my life would be like if it were the opposite, rather than what it is now. What about if I had never existed? What would have happened then? And I can't help but to think: If I died would anyone really care? My heart has already been ripped out and thrown away. And I've given up on finding it. What's the difference? It's now been eight years since the tragedy. For me, it's the end of the world. No one can fix it.