One Last Message.
New Member
- Mar 21, 2018
- 4
- 291
Pixie.
My sister, my best friend.
-*- Do Not Read If Easily Upset -*-
Hello.My sister, my best friend.
-*- Do Not Read If Easily Upset -*-
I don’t know how to start this, because I’d never expect in my whole 13 years of living that I’d have to write something like this. Relive something like this. All of the fibres in my body tell me not to, that I shouldn’t have to repeat the pain. The memories. The memories of her. The last memories of her.
The last memories of Pixie.
I know I have to, I know I must. She would have wanted it this way. She does want it this way. An explanation. Not because I care about this stupid site, but because I care about my friends, and Pixie’s friends here.
I may as well start from the beginning. I won’t be talking about how I feel. I barely feel anything anymore. So if this isn’t “real” enough for you, if you think this is a pile of bullshit, I’m omitting my emotions, my thoughts, for the sake of preventing another mental breakdown, not for your benefit.
You’re welcome.
In case you don’t know me, I’m Phoenix. @PhoenixOrNah. I was introduced to this website by @Pixel. Pixie. My sister. Pixie was popular, although she never thought of herself like that. She had friends. Friends who I eventually befriended. She made memories here, she spent most of her free time here, she helped out, she cared for everybody, she gave everybody second chances, because she was Pixie, and Pixie was, and still is, beautiful inside and out. BrokenLens made an impact on her, and I think, maybe, just maybe, she made an impact here too.
Also, before I start, I apologise for how I acted. You may have seen I wrote nonsense everywhere, swears, everything on our joined account, before leaving. I was stressed. Confused. Angry. I still am. But I was idiotic to behave that way, I was grieving, I apologise.
I don’t really remember what happened. Whenever I try to remember, it’s just a blur. I don’t know exactly how it happened either. I don’t know why it had to happen to her. Of all people. Of all people in this shîthole of a world, where violence is second nature and negativity overrules the minds of people, she had to be the one to suffer.
If I get dates wrong, I am sorry. I really am.
October, 2017.
It was late. Maybe 6-7 at night. Nobody was fighting. I think we were actually enjoying ourselves for once, as a family. Mum, Pixie and me.
It’s weird, that night, the one distinct thing I remember is Pixie at the table, finishing homework while I ate dinner next to her. Her red pen kept running out, and I kept teasing her about it, and she got stressed out (she always colour coded her work, red and blue, red for the titles, dates and headings, and blue for the information). She kept rubbing the pen quickly across her page. It made a peculiar sound, due to the friction, and for some reason I was in stitches laughing from it. And when I laugh, Pixie laughs. And don’t even get me started on her snort, I swear to god.
And that’s the only fun thing I remember we did together that night.
After a while, Mum had told Pixie to go to the shop, since we lived pretty central to everything (10 mins walk, max) , and one of the night owls were open.
I don’t remember what she asked Pixie to get, and whenever I ask she never tells me. I don’t know why.
She got her bag, her phone, and left. Simply left.
Since it’s a pretty short walk, she would usually be back soon. But she wasn’t. Which was unlike her. Very unlike her. Mum called her, texted her about five times, but no answer. We assumed her phone had died, but that was also out of the blue, since her phone is full charge literally 24/7.
It had been a long time. A very, very long time. What was supposed to be a short, 10-15 minute trip, had progressed into 30-40 minutes.
I, of course, although not wanting to admit it, began to worry. I thought she was lost, her sense of direction was terrible, (she even mistook the outside of my room for hers sometimes), and I guessed late, dark at night, her sense of direction would be even worse. But if she was lost, she would’ve called, or gone back to one of the local shops to call us, or a cab.
My mind obviously went to darker places, as I saw how panicked mum looked. We were stupid. I think we waited about 10 more minutes, the only sound being the tv, one of those stupid whole grain bread ads were playing (something that is very distinct in my memory too, from that night. I don’t understand why).
We left the house. To find her. The walk - which turned into a sprint almost - was honestly, one of the most terrible things I had done. The anticipation, my stomach had felt in knots. I knew something wasn’t right. And the darkness, the starless sky, added to that engulfing feeling. I expected to see Pixie at the night owl, sipping one of those $1 slushies we’d get after school together (blueberry and raspberry was her favourite) or adding credit to her phone. Maybe even talking to somebody she ran into. Something typical. Something Pixie would do to avoid coming home. But she wasn’t drinking a slushie. She wasn’t adding to her phone. And she definitely, was not talking to anybody.
Before everything went a blur, before the pain that caused weeks of school off, before the migraines, before the excessive crying, before the panic attacks, the blue and red lights were the last thing I saw, before everything I ever knew, changed in an instant.
Blue and red, blue and red, blue and red. The colours were painful. Almost as painful as seeing your own sister mangled between a car and a utility pole. And almost as painful watching your mum make the decision to turn your sister’s life support off.
My sister was going to be a nurse. She was going to help people, make people feel better, but most importantly, she was going to save lives. Do you know who helped her with the decision of wanting to be a nurse? Her best friend, and my best friend, @KendraHawk. She was going to save people. She was going to make the world a better place. She was going to bring life into the world, and be beside somebody when they shared their last breathe.
But she had to be the one to go. She had to be taken out of this world. A sweet, kind, beautiful girl. Had to be snatched away from me. Away from her life. Away from her future. Away from her dreams. She wasn’t ordinary, far from it. So I don’t know why she’s gone. Why she had to leave, so so incredibly early. It kills me. It hurts me. I’ll never forgive. I’ll never understand why. It hurts me so much I don’t think it’s possible. Why? Just why.
The thing that kills me, is that I don’t remember if I said goodbye or not. You don’t understand how that eats me up at night, not knowing whether I said goodbye to her or ignored her. And it was her last moment. It hurts. It hurts a lot. That’s an understatement even. Definitely an understatement. But don’t pity me, don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not worth your time.
Please, if you care about her, don’t reply with a simple “RIP” and be on your way.
She’s not dead. She’s gone, but she’s not dead, and she will never be dead. She’s alive, in my head, my heart. I hear her. I love her. I’ve always loved her.
I love you Pixie. And I always will. You helped me, from day one. You were always there for me, although I pushed you away, or tried to at least. You were the one, who supported my dreams when others belittled me, and did not. You came with me everywhere. You helped me with my highschool uniform. I’m in grade eight now, in highschool. I made it through my first year, it’s not so bad. The scary English teacher you told me about, loves me. I got exemplary marks from her. I even got a red rose off of a boy at Valentines. I even got another A+. I’m getting an award next term. This wouldn’t be possible, if you hadn’t of helped me with my uniform, my schoolbooks, my everything. I hope you’re proud of me. I’d write more, but pouring my emotions into a pixelated document is pointless. But I’ll keep writing, in your schoolbooks, I promise. I love you to the death. And we will meet again. I promise, I cross my heart. I love you. I love you. I love you so much. I would do anything for you. I hope you’re proud of me.
Pixie loves all of you. But she especially loves Kendra. Kendra, if you read this, I’m sorry for telling you what happened so immaturely. I was in pain, and you were the only one I could trust. I thank you for taking the time. I love you, Kendra. So much. Thank you. Thank you.
I love you, Pixie. My sister. My shoulder to cry on. My best friend. I can’t wait to see you, decades from now. I love you.
This is just one last message.
Goodbye BrokenLens, for good this time.
- Phoenix.
