My Sister's Grave Novels & Stories

I will never forget how my life changed after my sister left. At the start, they kept me from school before sending me to work at a construction site. When I came back, they made me eat scraps meant for the dog at the doorstep. I cried as I ate, feeling nothing but grievance in my heart. "Does it hurt?” Mom had taunted. “But did you suffer as much as your sister did? She was burned alive in that fire! She was only 19, and in the prime of her life!" Dad was standing beside her, equally furious. "Scott, if you hadn’t insisted on going out to buy figurines, your sister wouldn’t have died. I wish it was you who had died back then!"

I can see the wobble in her legs and I wish, more than anything, that I could carry some of this weight for her. But what I can do is carry the flowers, and I close the door behind myself and walk around to her side. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, I begin to guide her across the parking area. Side by side we take small steps, heading toward the plot of grass where my sister's headstone rests. When we reach the spot, we're both quiet, and I kneel to place the pretty purple flowers beside her stone. With trembling hands, I begin to pull the weeds that invade the grass here and there.

A few people wander around, it’s just good for the privacy I need. I kneel by the young girl’s grave, remembering how much she loved flowers. Dad and I used to spoil her with them, and she’d twirl, so happy it made my chest ache with something I can’t name. She used to love everything; I can’t name one thing she hated. Now she’s gone. I’m left with no mother, no father, and worse, no twin. I set the bouquet down gently and slow my breathing. “Loving Sister,” the stone reads, along with other things that matter to our parents but not to me, except her name and dates.

The flowers in her hand — vibrant and delicate — trembled slightly, as if they too could feel the sorrow that filled the space. The memories of Cora, her sister, flooded her mind like a crashing wave. It had been years since she had last visited this place, years since she had said goodbye to the only family she had ever known. And yet, the pain of that loss was still as raw as the day they buried her. She placed the flowers gently on the grave, her fingers lingering on the cold stone that marked her sister’s final resting place. The name etched into the stone — Cora, beloved sister and daughter. The words felt too small, too insignificant to honor the woman Cora had been.

Its roof sagged, its walls were cracked, and the windows that had once been painted with saints were now jagged shards of broken glass. Clara wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders as she approached in the pale gray light of dawn. Her breath clouded in the chill air, her heart pounding faster with every step. The letter still rested in her pocket, its words echoing in her mind. The truth you seek about your sister lies within your family’s past. Meet me at the old chapel before dawn. Come alone. The stillness of the morning pressed on her. No birds sang. No breeze stirred. It was as though the world itself was holding its breath.

We have yet to bury Moren— and now we stand gathered around Elarion’s grave. “Light,” I call softly. “How are you?” But the silence holds still, too heavy to breathe through. I know I promised I wouldn’t cry again until this is over— but after losing my sister so suddenly, I no longer know how to stop. I lower myself beside the grave, laying flat against the earth. Tears run wild, soaking the soil until it feels as if I’ll melt into it forever. ☾ ✦ ☽ “Take me to Eira’s grave,” I say, lifting my head.

The young Sister Mary was called out, but she wasn't the person he was looking for. “I mean Sister Mary Walker! She’s much older now.” “She passed away five years ago,” the young Sister Mary informed him. Upon hearing that the elderly Mary Walker had passed, the man’s expression grew sorrowful. After a brief silence, he asked for the location of her grave, then, holding flowers, he left. The young man drove to the cemetery, found the grave where Mary Walker was buried, and laid the flowers.

Whenever I thought of the scene of my sister's death, my heart ached so much that I couldn't breathe. I still remember the story that followed. I buried my sister and Kassidy on Gravesend Hill. I sought a high monk to perform the last rites for them, and the monk asked me, "How would you like me to guide their souls, benefactor?" I asked the monk what methods of salvation there were. After thinking for a moment, the monk told me, "I can guide her across the Naihe Bridge and let her be reincarnated. However, her grudges are too deep, so even in the next life, she will not have a peaceful end."

Since then it's like I've been on autopilot. Feed the baby. Call Sarah's employer. Burp the baby. Meet with the funeral home. Change the baby. Bury my sister. I stare at the casket in front of me. Sarah lies inside of it. I can't believe I'm burying my baby sister. Genevieve, my best friend and coworker, sits next to me, holding the baby. She keeps trying to quiet his cries while the preacher drones on about the sanctity of life and the need to treat every day as if it's your last.

Birds sang in the trees. David Chen's grave was still in the back corner. Still small. Still plain. Anna knelt down. Touched the stone. "Hello, David," she said. "I am Anna. I am Ellie's sister. Not by blood. By choice." I knelt next to her. "Anna came to see you," I said. "She wanted to pay her respects." Anna pulled a small stone from her pocket. Smooth. Grey. She placed it on top of the grave.