“I’ve been in love and I’ve been in wars.” I leaned in close to hear another one of my grandpas stories. “You don’t want to be in either, honey. Both can kill you.” He stuck his wrinkly pointed finger out at me, shaking it back and fourth. I smile big before my mom brings in a heaping plate of food for him. 

“She’ll do what she wants dad. She’ll learn.” My mom teased my grandpa. I laughed a little, he was right though. He looked down at his plate and smiled, only his front teeth there, small, baby like teeth, but there.  They made his mouth look tiny. 

“Now this.” My grandpa shoved a spoonful of beans in his mouth. “This is the only love worth falling for.” 

“What about family?” I ask. 

“Sophie.” He stopped smiling and had a stern look in his eyes. “You don’t love your family. There is no word above love, but if there ever is one, that’s it.” 

“But isn’t that the same thing?” I joked. 

“No darling. Like, love, and whatever there is. Blood. That’s what we’ll call it. It will be our word.” I nodded in agreement. He chuckled under his breath and scooped some mash potatoes. “It only means more because you can’t change blood so you gotta appreciate it for what it is.” I looked down at my skin and traced it with my finger tip. 

      “I got blood. Your blood grandpa.” Grandpa nodded and booped me on the nose. 

“I feel bad for anyone standing in the way of your success.” 

  I trace the writing in my journal and don’t even care that the tear drops fall onto the pages, blurring the words. I sit there for a good ten minutes before looking into my mirror. I feel my soft face with one dry pale hand. It hurt so much. Not the touching. The memories. “Blood.” I whisper. I can’t take it anymore before I let my head fall down into my arms. If people were watching I’d be embarrassed, but nobody was watching and I was alone. My loud sobs are covered into my arms, slipping out of my throat. Then the world was black. 

   When I woke up it was to a door opening. Since I don’t have a dad, I naturally expected it to be my mom, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was my sister. Jess looked terrified, her eyebrows furrowed, her pupils were huge, and she looked like she wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. Maybe shock? Everything was running through my mind, things that I thought were the worst kept racing. Jess opened her pink lips before pressing them back together and crying. “M-m-mom.” i couldn’t make out what she was saying, but she pointed her finger up. At this time I was fifteen and Jess was eight. 

“What’s wrong?” I reached my arms out, welcoming her for a hug. She shook her head, her dark brown hair throwing itself everywhere. I got up and took her hand. “Jess, what happened? Is it a boy?” She shook her head. “Grandpa?” She shook even harder and pointed again. “Is it something you can show me?” Jess whimpered. It’s grandpa, I think. She wants to show me something she found or...I don’t know. What could be so bad she’s not speaking. She pulls my hand hard, both our knuckles turn a pale white. 

 Jess goes into moms room. “You know we’re not allowed in there until mom comes home.” I follow Jess in to stop her from doing anything destructive. I push open moms door to grab Jess. But instead I freeze. Then everything inside me breaks. And now I understood why Jess looked terrified. I reached out to her and held her head in my arms, stopping her from seeing anymore. “Mom?” I mutter. 

Her skin was pale blue, looked cold, dead. She was just hanging there. She didn’t even look like mom, she looked like a zombie, green eyes wide open. How long? I was angry, frustrated, and sad. I pushed Jess out of the room and locked the door behind her. I sobbed and grabbed my moms body. “Why?!” I shout. I was right, she was cold. Her cent was still there, and I cried into her clothes. 

She’s dead, Soph. I can already hear the voices of a  psychiatrist in my head telling me it’ll be okay, that I’ll be okay. But the only thought that bothers is me is them saying to let go. 

Moms dead. Moms really dead.