Evan's Perspect
Looking at Candela right now, I can't shake the feeling that she's become someone else entirely. Mrs. Vesta explained that she's suffering from amnesia her mind's way of blocking out painful experiences as a defense mechanism. A way to survive the pain.
But I don't know if I believe it. She doesn't act like the sister I remember from before that day. The day I destroyed everything. The day I ruined her life.
Ten years ago, none of us understood how important Candela's illness would become. We knew she was fragile, that she had to be careful, but back then it only seemed serious when she pushed herself too hard. What could a small boy understand about the weight of adult worries?
I can still see myself, bright and smiling, running up to her with boundless energy. "Haha, Candela, come on! Let's go out!" I'd call to her, and she'd always return my smile with one of her own. But she never came out to play with me. Never.
"Mom and Dad would be mad if I played outside," she'd say, her voice soft but firm.
There was something in her eyes a resignation that I was too young to understand.
So every night, with the innocent persistence only a child could muster, I'd ask at the dining table: "Mom, Dad, can Candela come and play with me tomorrow?"
"Dear, Candela wouldn't be fine if she stayed out for long right now. Maybe another day," they'd reply, their voices gentle but final.
For me, it was like waiting to see a treasure that would never come. For them, it was just a way to calm me down, to postpone the inevitable disappointment. I lived for those another days that never arrived.
During that time, I found my joy in the moments I could spend with Candela at home, always waiting for that special day when she'd finally come outside with me. But eventually, the truth sank in that day would never come.
I grew sad. I went out less often, talked less to my own family. I thought nobody noticed my withdrawal, but that just showed how insignificant I felt. I began to feel less empathy toward those I considered my family, building walls around my heart. I thought nobody realized what was happening to me, but Candela did. She always did.
I don't know how she managed it, but somehow she found a way to sneak out of the house.
"Let's go and have some fun," she said, appearing at my side like a miracle.
My energy level hit its peak. I couldn't help but grab her hand and run with her, ecstatic as I led the way through our neighborhood. I felt heard. Seen. This was the day I'd been waiting for, dreaming of for so long.
Little did I know that my innocent wish would bring her nothing but trouble.
I didn't know this could happen. How could I have known?
I was so proud to finally introduce my sister to my friends. But then one of them picked on her, claiming she'd looked at him the wrong way. I tried to side with my sister at first, but as the group leader, Dart had everyone rooting for him. I can still remember those black hair and yellow eyes, coupled with that cocky smile of his that made my stomach turn.
I was just a kid. I didn't know if it was my desperate need to be accepted or because I'd grown less empathetic toward her, but I made the worst choice of my life. I sided with those I called my friends. I pushed my sister away, demanding that she apologize for something I knew she didn't do.
The look on her face I remember it too well. The hurt, the betrayal, the crushing disappointment. It haunts me still.
"Well, is this the reason why you wanted me to come out with you? Then I shall go back home" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
That was the last real smile I ever saw on her face. I was crushed, thinking this couldn't get any worse. I was so wrong.
My friends started bullying her, not letting her go. She tried to get away, tried to defend herself, but it was useless. She couldn't escape without getting hurt.
And me? I just stood there, processing the way I had shattered one of my most precious bonds. My mind was reeling, trying to understand what I had done, what I had allowed to happen.
Then it happened. She fought back, really fought back. And that's how she entered the critical phase of her illness.
The kids couldn't understand the gravity of what had occurred.
"I did nothing" they said, accusing each other before eventually running away from the scene like the cowards they were.
I just stood there, looking down at her. Staring at her immobile body, my world crumbling around me.
I had killed her. This was all my fault.
After what felt like an eternity, my father arrived at the scene. I got beaten up, then punished severely. But honestly, that physical pain was nothing compared to what I felt inside.
My real punishment was having to remember the day I killed my sister. My real punishment was living with the knowledge that I had betrayed the one person who had always understood me.
Since that day, I've been plagued by vivid nightmares of her death creative, horrible dreams where I'm forced to watch her die over and over again, each time knowing it's because of me. Since that day, she's never looked at me like her brother again. She's never said a word to me, not really.
Since that day, I've tried to change, to become a better brother, to earn her trust again. But it's all been in vain. I don't know if I was just deceiving myself, thinking I could ever make up for what I had done.
Even now, when I look at her, I see a corpse. I see the life I stole from her, the sister I murdered through my cowardice and betrayal.
If she really has forgotten those painful memories, maybe it isn't such a bad thing. It won't save me from my grief nothing ever will but maybe it'll be less painful for her. Maybe she can finally have some peace.
But the question that tortures me every single day remains: Candela, how can I make this right? How can I possibly make amends for destroying the person counts the most in this world?
Some sins can never be forgiven. Some wounds can never heal. And some brothers can never be redeemed.
Yet still, I have to try. For her. For the memory of who we used to be. For the slim hope that maybe, someday, she might look at me again and see her brother instead of her killer.