Life of Change

My youth was, in a nutshell, a lot of complicated shit.

My parents, my younger sister, and I lived in a small house. We weren't a close-knit family, but it worked...or at least I'd like to think so.

I didn't get along with my parents, especially my mother. Her eyes reflected a strange kind of hatred whenever she looked at me. I never understood why and never tried to find out. There was no need. She didn't care about me and I didn't care about her.

With my father, I could have a conversation now and then like two strangers who sometimes chatted while waiting for the bus or train. There was no interest, but we talked to pass the time. But my sister... she was my whole world.

I was older by 6 years. And since she was born, there was not a single day that I was not by her side. She was my happiness and the only reason I lived. In a way you could say that I was the one who raised her. Our parents only gave us a place to sleep. I was the one who taught her everything and gave her the food she ate. I taught her to talk, to walk, to dress, to eat, to bathe, to brush her teeth, all the things she needed to know.

We went to school together until I entered high school. When she finished her classes I would sneak out of class to pick her up when our schedules didn't coincide. Fortunately, my grades at that time were high enough that the teachers didn't care too much about what I did. All those afternoons we would hang out at a nearby park and play until late afternoon and then go home.

That's how our life was until she turned 12.

I left school and started working in a warehouse. My salary was good enough. So, the money, to a certain extent, was no longer a problem. My mother was never interested in what I did, even though she knew I made good money, she never asked for a penny. It was as if she didn't care about our existence. As they say, every cloud has a silver lining. Something I was grateful for, as it allowed me to save money without any problems.

I had already talked to my little sister about moving in together in a small apartment, away from that atmosphere of indifference, which felt like a ticking time bomb. There was a kind of feeling there, like the kind you get when something is definitely going to happen and you won't be able to avoid it.

My father agreed with me. He also seemed to think we would be much better off living away from them. Luckily, he never behaved badly towards us, but he wasn't the nicest person either. At least he was decent enough to know that the life we were living wasn't the best for us. However, he never did anything to change that.

For quite some time I was saving as much money as I could. I planned to pay the deposit on an apartment and move right away when she turned 16.

But life is a bitch. It's like you're drowning, feeling the water stinging in your lungs, you see a hand reaching out to help, as you feel that last thread of hope, and then... something pulls you even deeper, as you watch your only hope slowly fading away.

My little sister had decided to rest at home one morning. She had been stressed because her final exams were coming up, and she wasn't feeling very well. I told her she could rest for a couple of days, that she shouldn't overexert herself, she could even have some selfish desires if she wanted to. I would be back in the middle of the afternoon, so we could go out afterward and have some fun. She was happy and told me about all the places we could go.

So, I left for work and let her take a rest for the day at home.

On my way back, there was a big commotion in my neighborhood and a lot of people gathered. I remembered that bad feeling, a feeling that intensified when I saw a column of black smoke in the distance.

I ran with all my might, my heart pounding in my chest.

The distance to my house was not far, but it felt like but it felt like it was endless.

When I arrived... it was on fire. My house was engulfed in a huge fireball. Several fire crews were struggling to put out the fire. I started looking everywhere for my sister, but there was no sign of her.

After a while, I managed to see my father on his knees on the ground. He looked... he looked like his life was over. He had an empty look on his face. I approached him and asked him what had happened. But all that came out of his mouth was apologies and excuses, saying that he had done everything he could. Those words hadn't helped me in the least to quell the constant anxiety that was growing inside me.

I looked away and I saw my mother, sitting on the street as she hugged her legs, staring at the burning building. There was no trace of emotion in her expression. She was just looking calmly as if enjoying the scenery. I didn't even want to approach her, I felt sick just looking at her.

I went straight to a police officer who was nearby, told him it was my house and that I wanted to know what happened. He told me that a neighbor heard an explosion and when he came out, found the building engulfed in flames. There was still one person trapped in the house, but as far as they knew she was not in immediate danger. Fortunately, she locked herself in the bathroom, the flames and smoke had not yet reached her, but the more time passed, the more danger she was in. The structure of the house might not hold up for long.

Parts of the house had already collapsed. When it seemed that the flames had been brought under control, they somehow reemerged with more force, and the battle began again.

After two long and exhausting hours, they were able to control the fire.

And finally, out of the blackened rubble, 2 firefighters emerged from the collapsed building carrying a girl wearing an oxygen mask and wrapped in a soaked blanket. They took off their masks and by their expressions, they looked relieved. I immediately ran to them, my heart in my hand. I needed to make sure she was okay.

They tried to stop me, but it was enough to say that she was my little sister for them to let me approach. She was a little drowsy, looking like she was struggling to stay conscious. I could only hold her hand and cry. They told me they would take her to the hospital right away, they didn't know how much smoke she had breathed and they needed to run several tests. I just nodded and thanked them both for rescuing her from that hell. If I had lost her... I don't know what would have become of me at that moment.

In the ambulance, they put her on a stretcher with an oxygen tank and took us immediately to the hospital where she would spend at least a couple of days under observation.

After that, time passed quickly. My sister had minor burns and very minor damage from breathing the smoke. It was almost a miracle that that was all that happened to her.

A few days after that incident, the police visited us to give the results of the investigation. That bitch, my mother, had left the gas tap open and, although they don't know how, caused some kind of short circuit in the kitchen after leaving the house.

Needless to say, she was arrested immediately. They sent her to a psychiatrist and they detected some kind of mental illness. I don't know which one, I stopped listening to them as soon as I knew it was her fault.

My father, on the other hand, turned himself in from day one, accepting the blame for not being able to stop her and for all the damage caused. Given the situation and his words, he was sent to prison for endangering two minors, negligence, and several other charges. Although it was a reduced sentence with parole eligibility. He turned it down. He said he wanted to serve the full sentence. I was handed some papers to sign. One part was for me to be considered an adult and to take legal custody of my sister. We had no other family members; I had a stable job with a salary sufficient to support both of us, and I was coming of age anyway.

The other half was some inheritance papers that my father decided to leave us. According to what he had said, it was money and some possessions that he already planned to give us the day I moved in with my sister.

The trial was quick. The bitch had wreaked havoc before she faced the judge, and my father had already pleaded guilty. It went that fast because the evidence was too clear.

While things had turned out "in our favor" it was actually much harder than it should have been. My little sister began to suffer constant anxiety attacks, she had respiratory problems for several years, as a consequence of the damage to her lungs. I had to work much harder than before to pay for her medication and psychologist appointments.

The treatment was slow and difficult for her. I had to get 2 jobs to make up for everything, as the inheritance and my savings were depleting faster and faster. To make it worse, the owner of the apartment where we lived suddenly started charging us more, and since we had no way to move out or even take legal action since it would cost a lot to pay lawyers and take the case, we had to work hard to make ends meet.

But, finally, over the years, things got better little by little. I reached 30 and my sister was already 24. By that time, she was doing much better, her physical and mental health stabilized and apart from a medicated inhaler, there was no need for any further treatment. Miraculously, I managed to save enough money for her to get into college, and she was already pursuing her career. We still lived together, but she was more independent. It made me a little lonely, but I was more than happy for her.

Before I knew it, she started going to church. I was not a believer, so she used to attend alone. The good thing about it was that it helped her overcome a lot of things. I had some mixed feelings about it, but it was enough for me to know that she was happy.

Near her 25th birthday, I was planning to take her out to have fun with her group of friends. I managed to rent a place where she could enjoy herself with them to the fullest. I would pick her up in the evening, and then we could have some cake at home.

That was the plan...

That afternoon, as I was getting everything ready for when I brought her back, someone knocked on the door. We don't normally get visitors; apart from my sister's friends. I assumed it would be a delivery person or something we bought online. I didn't think too much about it. That was my mistake.

As soon as I opened the door, I felt something stabbing into my chest... then, again... the shock and force of the blow made me fall to the ground. In front of me was an elderly woman who lunged at me and kept stabbing me again and again. It didn't even hurt... I just... felt nothing. Surely caused by shock, one that increased the moment I saw who that woman was. It was her. My mother. There were tears in her eyes. She was repeating over and over again the same meaningless words. Her face was frozen in a furious expression. A mask of pure hatred.

It all happened too fast. I don't know why, but I didn't even think to defend myself, I just let it all happen.

Fear, disappointment, betrayal, resignation. Everything I felt at that moment was much more painful than the knife that was constantly being plunged into my chest.

"Is my death", I thought at that instant. Then more things crossed my mind. "Why me?" I questioned as I bleed out on the floor.

Was I receiving some kind of divine punishment? Or was it something as simple as “that's how life is”? kind of thing. An injustice that happens just because. Something that can happen to anyone at any time. Something that just... happens and that's it.

It was almost funny, striving for so many years to make my sister have a comfortable life, to be able to fulfill her dreams and goals... and in the end, I would be the reason her happiness would be stolen from her.

The cold began to take over my body, I could barely see or hear anything. I wish I could have at least said something to that woman. Ask her, why was she doing this, and what was it that provoked so much hatred. I really would have liked to know.

The light faded as I felt one last stab right in the heart. I just remember thinking about my sister.

"Just...please, please, please don't let my death keep her from being happy. That’s all I wish for."