With the aid of Good Ben Stokes, I attempted to see Sarah once more, and this time she did not hide.  In her sick-bed, as she grew as cold as I, she held me and told me that she would love me forever.

I do believe that it is the last time I shall ever hear those words.  And without her in my life to say them, what else matters?  When I would vow to fight for the Collins family, I now realize that my vow was for her, the best of us all.  I will never be worthy of your love, dearest sister.

My dearest love.  And in death, she finds rest and in death, I am cursed to live.

Live?  What a mockery I make of that word. I am dead, and nothing lives except the hatred inside me.



2 Comments on “415”

  1. Kali May 29, 2013 at 4:06 am #

    This is poetry.

  2. mrsgreenhands May 29, 2013 at 2:54 pm #

    Reblogged this on Mrsgreenhands’s Weblog.

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