Creepypasta Wiki Sister's in the Snow Excerpt_Fiction
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Sisters in the snow. I remember it like it was yesterday. Although it was decades ago, my sister and I had been fighting again like we did so often. Like I suspect more sisters do at that age. This fight got more heated than usual. I screamed in obscenity at my sister before turning to storm out of the room. But then my neck suddenly whipped back painfully and I realized she was yanking my hair in pain and shock. I spun around and slapped her heart across the face. We didn't often get physical, but when we did, we didn't mess around. I don't know where it would have ended up how far the violence would have escalated. But suddenly there was no, no, that was what we called. My grandmother on my dad's side. She had some kind of dementia and between that and her thick accents from the old country. She rarely spoke. She was a small, pale brittle ghost that lived on the periphery of my life. Hardly making an impression. This day was an exception, showing sudden fierceness. She interpose herself between me and my sister and looked back and forth at each of us. With an expression of fury on her face. She looked hard at my sister's hand still entangled in my long hair and then back at her face, my sister sheepishly let go and dropped her hand to her side. Sisters. Love. She shouted at us. Her voice shredding most of his usual fragility. Do not do this. Love your sister. Love. Suddenly the furious mass cracked, slipped and dissolved into grief where moments before had been an expression of pure anger. There was now nothing but sadness and loss. She clapped her small wrinkled hands over her mouth, but I could see her pale grayish brown eyes well with tears without another word, she turned and hurried out of the room as quickly as her arthritic legs would take her while her shoulders quivered with silent sobs. My sister and I stared at each other struck mute by Nano's double dip of uncharacteristic anger and uncharacteristic sadness. We stood there stunned and silent for maybe 20 seconds and then I turned and ran after her. Predictably, Nano was in the kitchen making tea while she was generally quiet and stayed out of trouble. Her tea making habits were a source of conflict in our household. You see, she could never make one cup. Every time she wanted tea, she would make four cups then drink only one of them while the other three went cold. My mother was infuriated by the waste. The economy was not in good shape and my father's job was on the brink of making him redundant. He was hardly paid enough as it was. But if he lost even that meager income, then, well, it was a source of stress for all of us. Looking back, I wonder if that is why my sister and I fought so bitterly. A fear of scarcity. Sure enough, Nana was carefully lifting four china tea cups down from the cabinet. And as I walked up beside her, she placed them carefully in the center of the four saucers that were already on the kitchen bench. I heard a soft clink as the fourth one was put in place. Na, no stop. I said gently. Why don't you sit down? I'll make you tea. Ok.