Personal narrative. If I Kill Him, Am I to Blame?

If I Kill Him, Am I to Blame?
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If I Kill Him, Am I to Blame?
I have grown to know my sister, my twin, as a person with the capacity to do many questionable things, mostly foolish, stupid and downright dumb. The kind of things that made me ask her “is your head okay?” I could not figure out in which category to place the latest stunt she had pulled. Calling the sight of her bloodied body on the floor with slit arms and blank eyes whose coldness bore into the ceiling a stunt is disrespectful. I was dumbfounded. For a moment, I could not make out which emotion stood out amongst the parade of feelings coursing through me. I was now alone, dejected and devastated. A blood-curdling scream pierced through my lips. My sister had left me alone and given up on me. I wanted to hate her with a depth of hatred I could not conceive as humanly possible. As I looked down upon her lifeless body, I concluded there could only be one person to blame. Mother.
The news of us joining the same high school had catapulted us into an ecstasy we had never experienced before. We were lucky to have received admissions to one of the top schools in the country. Better yet, we were joining the same school. The feat was an answered prayer as we had pleaded with God to grant us the opportunity. From there, we could envision us expanding our minds and capabilities as we learned. We were equally excited about getting to interact with different people and making new friends so much that we became insomniacs, hoping to rush through the nights and into the day we would report to school. We would share the experience of going through a crucial stage of life together. We were elated! The day came finally, and so did the rest of the days that would constitute our first semester in school. Our minds were blown away by the student diversity and the amount of knowledge we became exposed to. We had to adjust to a new environment and had a blank slate to craft our desires in. Looking back, I wish that somehow all that excitement would be enough to compensate for the dread we would experience from the events that would unfold. Unbeknown to me, this period marked the beginning of everything that went awry.
Schools closed for a holiday break. We got home and found mother seated in the kitchen waiting for us with our favorite cake. Mother was an excellent baker, so we knew we were in for a treat. Our excitement about how happy we were with our experience at school grew stronger when we saw her. We did not even put our bags down before we narrated every little detail to her. She hugged us and smiled with a faraway and wistful look in her eyes.
“Ma, are you okay?” we chimed.
“I am my darlings. I am. I have some news for you.” We sat at her feet and held hands, waiting with nervous anticipation. “I have organized for you to stay with ...