I’ve purposely left out the name and gender of the narrator.
Nobody spoke to me at my sister’s funeral. None of you said a word to me, not one word. I guess I can’t blame you. My parents have hardly spoken to me since… since they found Lila Rose, and the note that said, “I can never face anyone again.”
And I know it was my fault. I wish I hadn’t sent that picture of her to her friends. That picture she didn’t know about until I sent it.
But when I sent it, I was mad at her. I won’t say why. It seems so dumb now.
I wish my parents would talk to me, yell at me, ground me for a year…. even hit me. But they never hit me in all my life. But I can’t imagine any spanking….any whipping… that could hurt more than the way they look at me, and even worse, look away from me. So, like I said, I don’t blame you for not talking to me. I mean, why should you, when even my own Mom and Dad can hardly stand the sight of me?
But how would you like to be ten years old, and know you are going to Hell?