Tending to my sister Emily is a taxing job. It’s been perhaps three years since she’s become too infirm to leave the house, and I’m afraid I’m often the only company she can enjoy anymore. She used to love spending days in the park so much. I am always heartbroken to deny her such things.
Her face, once lovely, is now thin and gaunt from sickness. The strain of speaking leaves her words with a faulting, whisper-like quality. When I take her pulse in the morning, her wrists feel as if they were frozen from cold. I must always keep her smothered in blankets, or else she will shiver until her teeth chatter.
Emily gets so lonely, that I’ve even arranged for friends of mine to come by and be her “dates.” They can’t leave the house together, naturally, but I believe she really enjoys talking to someone new now and again. I can be terrible with conversation sometimes, and I know how much she loves to debate, and to laugh.
I love my sister dearly, which is why I take such excellent care of her. She’d never doubt for a moment my conviction to her happiness, and I know in my heart that she appreciates my sacrifice. Someday, when she’s feeling grateful – so grateful that nothing in the whole world could upset her – I’ll admit that I’ve been poisoning her the whole time.
Credit To: David Feuling