The Faces

It is not easy to forget. To forget the sorrow. The pain. It follows you around, and no matter how hard you try, it is impossible to outrun. The pain. It starts out feeling like a bee sting. You've got stung and for sure it itches but you will get through it. At least that is what you think. The sting starts hurting. It is no longer a bee sting. It is an indescribable pain - the sting has grown into a massive wooden stake forcing its way towards the thing you seek to protect the most. And then it strikes you when you are at your weakest - finds your most vulnerable spot. You remember everything, and your heart stops beating in the second the stake reaches its final destination. Your heart is struck… That was the feeling I was left with from the day I heard about the accident. Her death. The pain has followed me ever since. The wooden stake is not there anymore. But it has left me with a hole in my heart. It has left me bleeding.

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1. Prologue

1. Prologue

It is not easy to forget. To forget the sorrow. The pain. It follows you around, and no matter how hard you try, it is impossible to outrun. The pain. It starts out feeling like a bee sting. You've got stung and for sure it itches but you will get through it. At least that is what you think. The sting starts hurting. It is no longer a bee sting. It is an indescribable pain - the sting has grown into a massive wooden stake forcing its way towards the thing you seek to protect the most. And then it strikes you when you are at your weakest - the most fragile area. You remember everything, and your heart stops beating in the second the stake reaches its final destination. Your heart is struck…

That was the feeling I was left with from the day I heard about the accident. Her death. The pain had followed me ever since. The wooden stake is not there anymore. But it has left me with a hole in my heart. It has left me bleeding. It took me many weeks, before I was ready to breathe again, and when I finally took my first gasp of air it hurt. Like every other thing is this lonesome world. It hurt.

Is has been 3 weeks now. My parents were not very good at dealing with all the practical stuff, but I could not blame them. Who was good at this? The landscape was constantly changing in front of me - I looked for a focus point; a little farm house, but it slipped away like everything else. I took my eyes away from the car window. The numerous farms, fields and cows behind fences were not particularly interesting - nor very cheerful. I glanced at my mother's tired eyes in the rear-view mirror, for a second our eyes met; I knew what she was thinking. Then she looked away and glanced distantly at the road again. I knew we both felt the tension. But is was not because of the upcoming funeral. No. We were both filled with sorrow, emptiness and most of all we were horrified. Not because we were heading towards my little sister's funeral. My dear little sister. Her freckled face had been pale as the frosty November moon the last time I saw her. But it was not the funeral that horrified us. It was something far more serious. It had already taken her. And now. It was coming for us. For my mother, for my family. It was coming for me. 

I glanced out of the car window again. It had started raining, not much, but enough for the rain drops to race against each other down the window glass. I closed my eyes in the hope that my mind would finally get some rest. But as I thought, they would not let me rest. I saw everything again, the events repeatedly played on my retinas. I saw her. Saw it all happening in front of me - again.

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