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Bittersweet Life

SHE Who had fair and glowing skin... Thick, long, and shiny black wavy hair... A pair of aqua-colored, sparkling eyes. And the one who'd been loved by elders, admired by children, and the pride of the family. SHE is my sister... My sister, who had everything that I don't, who got all that I want and received all that I've longed for. I hate her, but I want to be like her. Despite being a boy, I strived to be an equal to her. I've grown my hair and taken good care of my skin. I achieved the perfect replica of her. But just being only a copycat has never been enough. I lived as a living picture of her image and became the scenery of my family who misses her. I'm still not equal. Then one day, no one saw it coming... A circumstance occurred that twisted the cycle of our world which I did not expect would change everything that we used to and opened the door to the next chapter of my bittersweet life. The circumstance that crossed my path to the girl I never thought would play a huge part in my life... That one girl who spoiled me with attention and filled my empty existence with genuine affection. But... In just a blink of an eye, death took her from me. Her sudden death caused dubiety to all of us... Suicidal? No... Someone surely murdered her... But... Our only question is... . . . Who? ~~~

ElJaneDM · Realistic
Not enough ratings
236 Chs

'Selfishness?'

Tristan woke up as Whifler opened his room's door; his dark surrounding brightened by the light from the outside then, everything turned black again after he closed the door.

"How are you?" Whifler asked as he turned on the light and put down the tray of food beside his bed.

"As usual, I'm fine. I was thinking about why I still need to rest," Tristan responded.

"Your body is fine but, your mind is not." Whifler removed the cover of the food. "Here, eat some."

Tristan slowly got up and blankly stared at the food—there was a bowl of porridge, 2 slices of watermelon, cubes of papaya, and a glass of water with a piece of lemon inside.

"Am I a patient?"

Whifler paused. "Are you going to complain?"

"I don't feel like eating porridge."

"There is nothing else to eat," Whifler stirred the porridge. "Don't be picky."

Tristan just sighed and started to eat the porridge. He felt a bit excited after he tasted it—it was too delicious. "Who cooked this?"

"Me."