This is going to sound really depressing and angst-ridden at first, but trust me, things will get happier. This is loosely based off of a movie I just watched. Please review and tell me if you think I should continue!

I should have saved her.

"It's not your fault."

"Please, don't feel guilty, Daph!"

I could have saved her.

"It wasn't something you could control."

But it was. It was all up to me. My fault.

"Daphne, don't cry."

What else can I do? She's gone. Forever. And I'm the one who decided to kill her.

"I have to go." Dark, smooth hair covered her pale face.

No one questioned her. No one dared. They all knew what would happen—she would break down again. She wouldn't stop crying for hours; she wouldn't let anyone in; then again, no one really wanted in.

She caught her reflection in the mirror as she walked up the wooden steps. Murderer, it seemed to scream at her. You are nothing but a killer.

I didn't mean to! She screamed at the voices in her head, falling to her knees halfway up the steps. I never wanted this! It was the right thing to do! I was doing what was best for everyone!

Tears leaked from the corners of her chocolate-colored eyes, running unabashedly down her cheeks and ripping off her small chin into her lap. Wasn't there a time when one simply ran out of the water used to supply tears? It didn't seem to apply to her; she'd been crying for a week straight. And the tears came, every time, but at least they were consistent.

She knew her family was trying to make the best of the situation. Trying to calm her and show her affection. But she could see it—in their mouths, eyes, even in the way they walked. She could see their resentment towards her. They tried to hide it, but it was there. And the pain cut her sharply like a knife.

I don't deserve to live. Not after I took another person's life.

Suddenly, everything was clear. Clearer than it had ever been before. She felt free, even though her whole body seemed to know she should feel weighed-down with blame. That didn't matter anymore. She knew what she had to do. Taking one shaky step, and then another, she made her way toward the bathroom—to the medicine cabinet.

She peered at herself one last time in the round mirror hung above the sink. Her eyes were almost black, and her irises were wide and damp. Her face was gaunt; the color of pure snow. Her lips were chapped and broken.

Maybe this is going too far…? A hesitant voice in the corner of her mind stopped her in her tracks.

Too far? She killed someone! This is the only way.

It was like on those old cartoons she used to love so much—the character had a tiny angel on one shoulder, and a devil on another. Both pointing out something that they thought was right; and always causing the person a considerable amount of confusion.

But this was one thing she was sure of. If nothing else, this was something she could do. Something to redeem herself with.

One trembling hand reached up for the silver handle of the oak cabinet holding her Granny's and parent's pills and syrups. The door creaked open slowly, and little plastic bottles sat on every one of the four shelves. She was overwhelmed by the variety.

I might as well pick something pretty.

If the situation had been any different, she might have laughed at herself. But it wasn't; this was how everything was going to end. Instead of a laugh, a gurgling sob rose up through her throat and pushed out her mouth.

"Water," she mumbled to herself, "I need water." She grasped for the cool, brass Hot and Cold water adjusters. In the next second, she was pouring ice-cold water into a plastic cup. It filled to the brim; neat and perfect, just liked her sister would have liked.

"This is it," she plucked a handful of bright pink pills for stomach cramps, and set them in front of her; each one contrasting brightly against the white counter. She took a slow, deliberate sip of the water, letting it cool her irritated throat. Oddly enough, she felt rather at peace. Maybe I'm already dead. Maybe this is a dream…or a nightmare.

"I hope this will be enough." Her hand had already stopped shaking; she was over her nerves. The pills glistened in her pastel hands, like drops of light blood. She tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and dropped exactly six of them in.

Then, like a boulder, something smashed against her back, sending the now-moistened pills to the floor. Is this was dying feels like? I didn't know it would hurt so much.

She was suddenly coughing up water, gagging; gasping for air. I'm not dead. I didn't get a chance to swallow the pills!

She whipped around, clutching her stomach in agony; and looked straight into a pair of light grey eyes.

No! Mustardseed! He saw me!

"What the heck are you doing?" he shouted, slamming the lid sloppily back on the bottle of tablets.

"I was—"

He didn't let her finish, "Why were you putting those into your mouth, Daphne?" his eyes were devoid of their usual lightness; instead, they were filled with pure rage, "Don't you know they could kill you?"

"I….I knew…" she said meekly, unable to look him in the eye. She felt small and vulnerable in his anger. It scared her more than she cared to admit.

He seemed to physically react at her words. His huge fist hit the shower curtain; not making any sound, but it unnerved her nonetheless. He was livid.

"Explain." His voice was abruptly cold.

"I don't have anything to explain."

He took a step toward her, and she backed away. Two more backward steps, and she was trapped by the tile wall. Her fingers pressed against the cool surface, even as her face turned beet red at his intense gaze.

"You have a lot to explain, Daphne. Start with telling me why you just tried to kill yourself."

Something flared up inside her, something that hadn't been present in her since that horrific day two weeks ago.

"Fine. I'll tell you why." Her own voice was low and cool, "I wanted to die because that's the only way I can make things up to everyone. The only thing that can repay for what I've done to the people I love."

"That wouldn't have—"

She went ahead, ignoring his interruption, "It was for Granny. For Uncle Jake. For Mom, and Dad. And it was for you. I was doing it all for you!" the emotions she'd tried so hard to hold back in front of him, came pouring out, "How could I let you look at me after what I did? How can you not see me as a murderer? How…?" she was angry at him for messing up her perfect plan.

"You are not any of those things! Do you really think—"

"Mustardseed," she gazed at him, at his earnest eyes, feeling her heart rip out, "I killed my own sister. And I did it on purpose."

Like it? Please, leave some feedback. Next chapter will explain everything. Trust me, Daphne isn't a bad person.