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Puppy Sibling

She walks around the house with a stuffed rabbit. We had put it in her crib about a week after she was brought home from the hospital. She was so tiny, and mom thought that she might accidently suffocate herself by hugging the toy too tightly. We told her it was silly, and we still put the toy beside our baby sister, but a part of us could not help but wonder. So, despite our own inner scolding’s, we still kept a mighty fine watch on that crib. We still listened for the sounds of the baby inside extra carefully, just in case. But nothing bad had ever happened.

She did love that rabbit though, and I could not have been any happier. I had spent hours upon hours working the doll into a decent shape. My fingers were all practically useless, numb from the constant jabbing of several different needles. I had started making it when mom gave us the news that she was expecting another baby. That was about two months along. It took me an entire seven months, and a couple of weeks more for added measure, to finally finish it. I can’t say that it wasn't a pain, but I knew it was worth it when I saw her slobbering all over the thing.

I used to call her Puppy, or Pup, because back then I hadn’t seen anything cuter than a puppy before. Yet, I had decided then, at twelve years old, that my litter sister was even cuter than the purest of purebred puppy dogs, and thus gave her a set of nicknames I felt suited her. It was something special between the two of us. Everyone else called her by her name, Evelyn, or Eves if they were feeling cute, but she always liked my names the best. Just like she liked that stuffed rabbit more than any of her other toys. She carried it with her wherever she went, and she was never without it when she needed to take a trip back to the hospital.

Puppy was a sick kid. She had breathing problems and would often have these huge fits that would leave her in bed for days. Her curly hair would go limp, her plump little cheeks would lose color, and her eyes would lose a bit of their sparkle. My brothers didn’t like getting too close. Even though they were older, and knew they couldn’t catch what she had, they didn’t want to get too close. So mom depended on me for a lot of the help with her. I didn’t mind. Pup and me were like two really aged gapped peas in a pod. I was her favorite brother, and I just loved her to bits. That rabbit was a testament of that, I guess, and she once said, in that cute little baby-doll drawl of hers, that we’d all be together always. I think I believed it.

But sometime during the winter she turned three, she got sicker than I had ever seen her. I stayed home from school a lot because I was so worried, and I would later pay for it by repeating my senior year of high school. But, back then, all I could focus on was Puppy. The last time I saw her smile, she told me she loved me, asked for a hug and kiss, and then went to sleep. She didn’t wake up again. We buried her in a dress mom made, and her favorite toy bunny wrapped in her arms.

Pup was a very sore subject after that. Mom liked to talk about her a lot, and dad did too now that I think about it, but my brothers never stuck around for the conversations. I think they felt guilty, and would have preferred we’d forget the source of the pain. I think they thought it would make things easier on all of us, but I couldn’t do that. Instead, I used her as my driving force in life. I was going to live enough for the two of us. The night after her funeral, I promised her I would make it back to her someday, and when I did, I was going to be good enough to keep that little promise of hers.  

Ever since then, I’ve had a bit of an affinity for good luck. Good things happen to me for no reason, and eventually people had to wonder what was going on. I never lost my keys, never forgot that important date, and the opportunities had a way of finding me just when I needed them the most. People thought I was blessed.  They thought I must have done something really good to deserve all of this luck. I think I was just a beloved older brother with a younger sister who still wanted to see him happy.

Yup, you guessed it. I didn’t think it was luck, or a blessing, or even any good karma on my part that put me in a good place in life. I’ve always believed that it was Puppy looking after me like I used to look after her. In fact, I know that’s what’s been happening. I know because I’ve seen her.

At first I thought I was hallucinating, letting grief take over, but it’s happened too many times since then, and I’ve long since healed after the initial pain of her death. Now I know she’s just following me around the way she always used to when she was alive. Only, this time, she’s learned how to do nice things for me without physically being there. I see her peeking around the corner when I’m having a bad day, giggling when I need a bit of a pick-me-up, and running a hand through my hair when I end up sick. And I still see that rabbit of hers bouncing up and down in her arms from the corner of my eye. My little sister, my favorite Puppy, is now my own personal guardian angel.

And I think that makes me the luckiest man alive. 

Waterwheel for the Falkreath lumber mill

#671

what should not be forgotten

That awkward moment when you pull out a piece of writing thinking it needs a polish and instead it needs life-saving surgery, organ transplants, a stint in rehab, and quite possibly a stay in the Witness Protection Program.

Song of Storms

♪♪ From the sky, To the ground♪♪ ♪♪Rain is falling all around♪♪

♪♪Thunder rain and wind♪♪ ♪♪ A song of storms begins♪♪

♪♪ Play a song, A melody♪♪

♪♪ Then everybody will see♪♪

♪♪The hero of time♪♪

♪♪Has come ♪♪

According to psychological facts, the inability to fall asleep at night means you’re awake in someone’s dream.

Me: If I ever get published, I'm going to write fanfiction for my own books

Me: And then reviewers will be like, "Omg that's totally out of canon."

Me: And I'll be like, "Bitch, I am the canon."