So I saw another one of them, another one of those fucking posters.
The same poster, same picture that I see over and over and over again, on shacks, trees and lamppost, that same poster that brings back the gut wrenching memory of what I last said to her. Shouting at her to get out of my make-up box, Christ she was just a kid, why couldn't I let her play? If I had known then what I no now, I would have let her play, for hours, then maybe she would have stayed safe, instead of running off in hysterics.
I cant stop staring at those big blue eyes, blonde hair and cheeky grin, remembering the date when the picture was taken, on her eighth birthday, god she looked so happy.
I can feel tears prickling at the back of my eyes as I touch the picture, just trying to get some connection to her, just one little strand, but all I feel is paper and emptiness.
Its now been 11 months since my little sister went missing, and these posters still litter the place, a reminder that she still hasn't come home, a reminder of that empty place at the dinner table, a constant reminder of what you’ve lost and just when you manage to forget it, forget everything for one blissful minute, you walk past one of these fucking posters, and it brings back the awful memory, it comes back and hits you so hard you think you might throw up.
God, I miss her so much.
I remember the times when we used to come to the beach, this same exact spot, the same stop where all these posters now infest.
As I stare at the beach, the sea, the sand, I remember how we used to build sandcastles, eat ice cream and play in the sea. The time I let her bury me and the time we went hunting for crabs, she was so fascinated by them.
I remember when I realised she’d gone missing, this shack was the first place I checked, I remember how we used to play hide and seek here, I remember how much I wished and hoped it was that same game again, that I’d run into the shack and find her hidden behind the same wooden boxes she always hid behind, but this time it wasn’t a game, and all I found was her cardigan, her little red one with the yellow flowers.
I can’t help but collapse onto the boxes crying, and I find myself wondering why? Why would someone kidnap my little sister? What screwed up, fucked up, shit kind of person would do this?
I’ve played her return over and over in my head, how I’d come home, and she’d just be sat there, on my bed, playing with my toys like she always did, but no matter how much I wished or how hard I prayed, she’d never be there.
And as I stare into those eyes, those big blue eyes just staring at me so innocent, so happy, I feel a surge of hatred and I can’t stand it any more. I tear the poster down and throw it to the floor, but I don't hate her, not by any means, I love her so much, and I cant bear that she is gone, every second hurts.
I hate myself, because if I hadn’t shouted at her, she’d still be here.
Hannah I’m so sorry.
