We Begin at the End

by Chris Whitaker

She looked back at the night when her mother had died, and she thought maybe she had been in shock each day since.

Most of all she felt tired. Not from the work or the sleep, just from the wretched hatred that lived deep inside her.

For a moment she thought she might cry too, just let the past months and years rot her into the dirt, wash her skin from her bones and her blood to the water.

“After that night, after what he did, he knew none of us would find freedom again.”

Let the world freeze over, let all the colors drain till the canvas was blank once more.

She looked over at her brother and knew without doubt he was the color to her shade.

“There’s people in our lives that we’d do anything for. You know that better than anyone.”