SOBBING.

SOBBING.

Potential prompt: Sam gets hurt protecting Tara. Like badly hurt. What would happen?

“Go with grace”

i’m sorry.

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“Sammy. Sammy! ¿Puedes dibujarme una flor?”

(Sammy. Sammy! Can you draw me a flower?)

Sam looked down at the little voice next to her, smiling down at her baby sister. She was working on her art project at the kitchen table, on one of the high stools. At just five years old, she was not quite big enough to reach Sam, so she used her little hands to tug on Sam’s pants for attention.

Reaching down, Sam picked up Tara and situated her on her lap. Her sister curled into her embrace, sighing peacefully. Sam reached for her pack of colored pencils, pulling it closer to Tara.

“Tú eliges los colores. Quieres un lirio o un tulipán?” she murmured, kissing Tara's hair.

(You choose the colors. Do you want a lily or tulip?)

Her sister played with the pencils, running her little hands over each one. Sam knew that Tara liked the sensation and texture of the smooth pencils, and let her sister take her time making a decision. She just held her sister, pressing her cheek into her hair. Tara always smelled like peaches. Sam was addicted.

Finally, Tara picked out a few. Blue, yellow, and purple. She handed the pencils to Sam, leaning back into her big sister, ready to watch. “Quiero un lirio, por favor,”.

(I want a lily, please)

Kissing the back of her head, Sam started to draw.

Tara watched her big sister draw, her eyes big and full of wonder. She rested her head against Sam’s chest, and with one hand on Sam’s drawing hand, gently tracing with her big sister. Art isn’t something that came naturally to Tara. She just loved watching her big sister draw.

It took a while, and once Sam started to feel Tara sag against her, sighing sleepily, she hurried it up.

“Está hecho nena. Mira,” she whispered, shaking Tara a little bit.

(It’s done, baby girl. Look).

Yawning, Tara leaned forward. Sam could practically feel the excitement vibrating from her baby sister.

“Qué bonito. ¿Es para mí?” her sister questioned, marveling at the picture.

(It’s pretty! Is it for me?).

Sam laughed, squeezing Tara affectionately. “Sí, mi hermoso cielo. Todo es para ti,” she whispered.

(Yes my beautiful sky. Everything is for you).

Tara laughed in glee, her little fingers playing with the paper. A purple tulip with blue and yellow highlights, with Sam’s work-in-progress official signature in the bottom right corner.

The two stayed there for a while, enjoying each other's comfort, staring at that picture together.

——

As Tara held her big sister’s body against her chest, she saw the tattoo. After having her sister back in her life for a whole year, Tara had never seen that tattoo. Even with the blood staining her big sister’s chest, Tara could still see it peeking out above Sam’s collarbone.

It was the very same tulip that Sam had drawn Tara years ago. The purple flower with yellow and blue highlights. With that same wobbly signature at the bottom right corner. It was a spitting image of that same flower, but on her big sister’s skin.

Sam gasped in her arms, her eyes drifting away. Tara sobbed, holding Sam tight with one arm, the other pressing on the wound that marred her sister’s chest. Her sister looked shocked, blood dripping out of the corner of her mouth. She could feel her big sister’s quick gasps and wheezing against her chest.

Desperately, Tara started talking, trying to get Sam to look at her. “¿El tulipán? Sam, ¿es ese el tulipán? Sam, mírame. Mírame. Háblame del tulipán, Sammy.”

(Is that the tulip? Sam, is that the tulip? Sam, look at me. Look at me. Tell me about the tulip, Sammy).

Sam looked up at her baby sister, her warm eyes unfocused. Despite the blood loss, Sam still looked at Tara with so much wonder and so much love. Her big sister looked so comfortable, so relaxed. It made Tara cry harder, squeezing Sam.

“El tulipán. Te quiero, Tara. I love you so much.” her big sister whispered, the corners of her bloody mouth quivering a bit.

(The tulip. I love you, Tara. I love you so much).

Tara shook her head rapidly. “No. No, Sammy. Look at me. Stay, Sammy, stay!” she pleaded, shaking Sam a bit.

The color blue and the smell of tulips will haunt Tara.

She will always hear echoes of an ambulance too late to save Sam, for the rest of her life. The feeling of her sister’s blood sticking to her skin will stain her hands permanently red.

And that flower will haunt her. But she will still get it tattooed above her collarbone. And Tara will seek danger for the rest of her short life, hoping that a bullet will bring her back to her sister.

She hopes that she goes with the same grace her big sister once did, a death softened by the blow of love. Tranquility knowing that the person they love will stay with them while they pass.

Grace.