The Sister

by Louise Jensen

Stepping out of my car with heartbreak-heavy legs, I zip my jacket and pull on leather gloves before hefting my spade and bag

as I can remember. I shiver as I enter the forest; it’s darker than I’d thought and I take deep breaths of the pine-scented

home and come back in the morning, remind myself why I’m here and drive myself forwards. My smartphone lights the way as I look out for rabbit holes

there, I was never supposed to do this alone. I stop and rest the spade handle against my hip, splay my fingers and shake out my pins and needles. There’s a rustling in the bushes and I have a sense of being watched. My heart stutters as two rabbits dart out, bounding away when they see my

rucksack feels tight across my shoulders and I readjust the straps before marching on, snapping twigs underfoot. I’m beginning to think I’ve taken the wrong fork when I

Memories of the last time I was here hit me so hard I feel winded. I sink to the ground. The dampness of the leaves and

gate at the edge of the cornfield, plastic bags strewn around her feet, blonde hair gleaming in the weak coral sun. Never patient, Charlie kicked her heels as I trudged towards

dashed into the trees. I shifted the box under my arm and tried to keep up, following flashes of her purple coat and wafts of the Impulse body spray she always stole from her mum’s bedroom. Branches and brambles grasped at our denim-clad legs, snagged our hair, but we kept going until we burst into the clearing.

she handed the gift to me. I sat cross-legged, carefully opening the ends without tearing the paper, and inched the box out. Nestled inside was half a gold heart on a chain engraved with ‘BFF’. Tears pricked my eyes as I looked at Charlie.

By the time the hole was deep enough, Charlie was breathless, her fingernails caked in dirt. I carried the memory box over to the hole and placed it in the ground.

wanted to emulate. ‘You can never be too rich or too thin,’ Charlie said. She scooped an armful of dirt and began to cover it. ‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘I want to put this in.’ I waved the birthday wrapping paper in the air. ‘You can’t now, we’ve already sealed it.’ ‘I’ll be careful.’