Blood Stained White Roses

When I was little, my big sister was my best friend. She was five years older than I was, but even with that age gap she would always play with me. Since we lived in a high-class family, my sister was always busy with school or violin lessons. But in the end she would always find time for us to play together. I loved and admired my sister. It wasn’t until I was older that the love and admiration I had for her turned to hate.

As I was getting older, my parents would always compare me to my sister. They would always tell me, “At your age your sister did this,” or “At your age your sister did that.” I was tired of them comparing me to her. A few times they even said, “Why can’t you be as beautiful as your sister?” After comments like that, I would wish that my parents would die. Eventually my wish did come true. When I was fifteen, my parents got into a car accident and they both died instantly.

At the funeral I didn’t shed a single tear. Why cry for the people that made you’re life miserable? During the funeral I began to realize something about the people that have known my family for many years. I thought that it was only my parents that compared my sister and me, but what I realized at the funeral was that everyone else did too. Even though they didn’t say it to my face like my parents, I could tell that they were comparing us even through their fake smiles.

My twenty-year-old sister inherited the money and the house. Unfortunately she also inherited me. As my legal guardian she made me take etiquette classes, so I could become a proper lady. My sister wanted me to learn how to walk right, talk right, sit right, etc. I excelled in all of my lessons; learning how to formally greet others and wear that fake smile that everyone wears. My sister was so proud that I had become the perfect young lady. Like everyone else, she was too blind to see that behind my smiling face was the hatred that I harbored for her and everyone.

Three years have passed since my parent’s deaths. I still live with my sister in the house that she inherited. Usually I stay in the house and stare out the window that overlooks that garden. In the garden, my sister talks with her friends. The garden contains nothing, but white roses. They are my sister’s favorite flower.

Each day my hatred for my sister grows more and more. The hatred for her is so great that I can’t take it anymore. I must rid myself of her. It has to be soon or else I think I might go crazy. I must think of a way to get rid of her. I have to get rid of her without anyone knowing that it was me. But how?

For many days I pondered on how to rid myself of my sister. But with each day I was getting more and more anxious. At night I would lay in bed wide awake wondering when I would get rid of this demon that plagued me. Tonight was the night. I had to do it tonight or I’ll go insane.

I tiptoed out of bed and went downstairs to the kitchen. Searching the drawers, I grabbed the biggest butcher knife I could find. Quietly I went back upstairs. Carefully, I walked down the hallway, making no noise as I approached my sister‘s room. I carefully grabbed the doorknob and twisted it slowly. As quietly as possible, I opened the door. When the door was opened enough, I slipped into the room. The open window let the moonlight shine on my sister’s bed. With the moonlight hitting her, she looked so much like a sleeping angel. I knew her for what she really was though. A demon.

I walked quietly to the bed. Staring down at my sister, thinking how peaceful that she looked in her slumber; she had no idea tonight was the night she was going to die. I raised the knife in my hand. My hand was shaking a bit as if it was resisting. But in the end I brought the knife down and stabbed my sister in her heart. I didn’t stop at stabbing her once though. Again and again and again, the knife came down, stabbing into my sister’s flesh. By the time I was done, blood was everywhere. It covered the bed, me, the floor, and even the vase with the white roses that my sister kept on the nightstand.

I wrapped my sister’s corpse in in the blood soaked sheets. My sister’s corpse was half-carried, half-dragged to the garden. The body was laid down on the ground, surrounded by a sea of white roses. Almost made me sick to see them. I headed towards the shed to get the shovel. When I came back, I began to dig my sister’s grave. I picked a spot where the earth was already plowed where my sister was planning to put more white roses into the garden. It took me longer than I thought since I had to constantly wipe the tears from my eyes.

When my sister’s corpse was buried I went to the kitchen and grabbed all of the cleaning supplies. I began to clean all the blood that I could find; that included the blood that came from my sister’s body when I was dragging it. The bedroom was the last place that was cleaned. It took me hours, but I was finally able clean all the blood off of the mattress, the floor, the headboard, and other places the blood splattered. The sheets, blankets, and pillows were all replaced with spares. The bloodstained items were wrapped up to be burned later.

First I had to get rid of the blood that covered me. The water washed away the blood and I put on new clothes. I started a fire in the fireplace and starting throwing my clothes and pillows into it. The fire engulfed everything and turned it all to ash. When the last bit of evidence was burned I retraced my steps to make sure I got everything. When I got into my sister’s room I realized I had forgotten the roses. The roses were so bloodstained that you would have thought they were originally red roses instead of the white ones they once were.

I took the vase and rushed out of the room and to the kitchen. The roses were thrown out of the vase; the vase was put into the sink. The hot water and soap made it easier to get rid of the blood. When all the blood was washed away, it was filled with clean water. New roses were taken from the garden and placed inside of the vase. The vase was put in its proper place on my sister’s nightstand. Looking around the room, it didn’t even look like a murder was committed here.

The blood stained roses were thrown into the still burning fire to turn to ash just like everything else. I sat in the chair and watched them burn. My vision became blurry as they began to fill with tears. I wiped them away with the back of my hand. Sleep came over me, and it wasn’t until morning when the maids arrived that I woke up.

My sister’s disappearance was what everyone talked about for the next few weeks. She had left without a word and without taking anything. The house and what was left of the fortune was left to me since I was now legally an adult. People thought it was strange that my sister had abandoned everything. But nobody asked questions and there was no investigation to see where she went, since there wasn’t any sign of foul play.

I placed a bush of red roses over my sister’s grave. Everyone always thought that it was a bit weird to have one bush of red roses in a sea of white roses. When visitors would come to tell me how sorry they were that my sister abandoned me, they would ask about the rose bush. I would smile and give the same reply, “There is no difference between a white rose and a red rose because all a red rose is, is a blood stained white rose.”