The Death Timer

My body was suddenly weightless, and I could glimpse the warm light in the living room through the old door.

My mother, Bea Chandler, was patting my sister's back.

My father, Gio Fox, was hanging his head, his shoulders slumped.

My sister, Stella Fox, was wearing the only new dress they bought—a pale blue gown sewn with tiny sparkling stars.

They were sitting closely beside each other, but Stella's face remained deathly pale under the bright lights, her lips drained of all color.

"Is Tina really alright?" she asked softly and nasally. "I heard her crying that her head hurts…"

"Don't worry about her." Gio brushed it off nonchalantly.

"Exactly," Bea agreed, carefully fondling Stella's cheek and tidying her bangs. "She isn't sick—she's always pretending so that we'll worry about her, even though you only have one day left… "

She trailed off, choking with tears just then. "You just focus on celebrating your birthday. Don't let her ruin your mood."

Stella pursed her lips in silence, but the furrow on her brow deepened.

I knew that she always believed that she owed me, what with our parents putting her before me in everything as long as we could remember.

I didn't even get a single cold egg, let alone new clothes and toys.

Even so, Stella tried her best to sneak her snacks to me, to trim her new dresses so that they suit me, and to always defend me whenever our parents snapped at me.

She would always apologize to me, saying that I was suffering because of her.

But our parents always disagreed… just like now.

Sighing just then, Bea gazed at Stella wistfully as she said, "Stop taking her side. That brat has been jealous for as long as we can remember, and she doesn't like it when we favor you. Or did you forget what happened on your fourteenth birthday?"

Stella's fourteenth birthday was also the moment I came to understand the reality that Stella was going to die.

Our parents bought a butter cake for once, with fourteen tiny candles on top.

Bea was gingerly lighting the candles while Gio used the same old camera he'd used for years, taking pictures of whatever birthdays Stella had left.

I was hiding behind the door, watching as the candle flames brightened her face.

Then, she closed her eyes to make a wish, while our parents were fighting back tears.

Then, I charged straight for the table.

I didn't know what I was thinking—perhaps I was just jealous, or I just couldn't accept the reality that my kind sister would be gone forever.

I knocked the cake off the table, sending it to the floor in a pile of buttery mess while the candles were snuffed out.

"Don't celebrate Stella's birthday!"