The Feeling of Blame

12 December 2018

God, I hated when she did that. Every time a good show was airing, Carolina had to put her tiny bewildered face in front of the screen although she perfectly understood that what she was doing was obnoxious for me. Thankfully, she waved while she headed down to the kitchen.

The show began again, and I turned up the volume. Right away I heard a boom! It was not a normal thump; this voiceless sound came along with a feeling of despair, with a bitter feeling of guilt. A terrible image crossed my mind. Could it really happen? Was it possible that my younger sister had just fallen from the second floor? Without hesitation, I jumped from the lethargy inducing sofa and moved my puny and scrawny feet. I reached the metal banister, took a deep breath, and dared to look downstairs. It had happened.

The Feeling of Blame Essay Example

There was Carolina lying on the cold ground. Her legs were crossed over one another, and her skinny arms were wide open. Her eyes closed. Closed. I felt hot red blood flushing through my body. It had all been my fault. Hours ago I had decided to slide down the banister, and apparently she had innocently followed me and done the same. She had always been scared of it, but today she was not. Today she was determined to show me how brave and courageous she really was, but I purposely fell on the selfishness of ignorance and overlooked her first trial.

After seeing her, I entered a state of uncertainty; I did not know how to proceed. My younger sister was lying unconscious on the granite floor. I had occasioned this. My feelings were full of insecurities, was I the murderer of my sister? Was I going to be left out of the family? I could not stand up and face my parents after what I had done. I could not be called their daughter anymore. I was going to be a shame to my brother and sister, who had trusted me to take care of the youngest of our members, and I had failed. Guilt travelled through my body like a toxic poison. There was no way of stopping it; it had already spread.

I gathered all my strength and lifted her up. She felt so light, so weak and so fragile, as if she was almost broken and an uncalculated move could tear her apart. Giving the first step towards my parent’s room was one of the hardest decisions I had to face. It was like committing suicide. I knew that what was coming ahead would destroy me and shatter me into million little pieces, but I did it anyway. My sister was more important. I had to save her. My steps were becoming quicker and louder, just like my heart beats. I carried her to my mom’s room, I could still feel the happy atmosphere inside it, and knew that I was going to be responsible for infiltrating it with a poisonous and lethal sentiment.

As soon as my mom saw one of her oldest daughters carrying her youngest kid, I felt disappointment. Carolina would never wake up again. My mother’s face turned pale white, her eyes expanded, and she let out a rasping gasp. Immediately, she took Carolina from my arms and yelled out for help. My dad came, and as a programmed robot, called 911. He was always trying to show his calmness towards every situation, but this one was different. This time it was not going to be as easy for him to pretend that everything was going to be fine.
Three hours had passed, and I had been inside my white, dispassionate room, where I had spent so many nights under my bed covers reading stories to my sister, stories where she and I travelled through undiscovered lands thinking about our next adventure. My arms and legs were tight close to my body, crating the same position I always did when I felt unsafe. My older brother was with me, while the rest where in the hospital. He picked up the phone, talked in a low voice, stood up, and came to hug me while he repeated to himself: thank God. Carolina survived. She had wallowed in between death and life, but somehow she is with us today. That feeling of guilt never went away. It keeps hammering through my chest day and night. Time has reduced its pain, but it is a memory that will always leave a brackish flavor. I had almost lost my companion, lost my adviser, lost my sister, but especially lost my best friend.

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