The cold January evening ended with a sudden snowstorm. I sat in front of the warm tiled stove - the crackling of the fire behind my back and remembered old wonderful times. Times that had built me up. Times that were hard for me. Times that had ended with suddenness. The death. The death of Helena, my sister. We had been inseparable. Always had been. I blamed myself for her death. If we hadn't gone to the forest that summer night to meet Ben and Sam, nothing would have happened. I should not have always persuaded my sister, who was one year younger, to do that. Nevertheless, even this realization did not comfort me. I took the photo of her framed in light wood and promptly remembered that mild summer night in July. Like every Friday night, Helena and I disappeared from home. We fished ourselves out of the first floor window, ran silently along the avenue` and rode our moped into the woods. The two young men were already waiting for us, as usual. Then "the secret things" began, Ben took me by the hand and we disappeared into the thicket. On and on and on. Until we were far enough away from Helena and Sam. Then we kissed each other intimately. I didn't have a good feeling when I drove back with Helena that evening, and sure enough, at the crack of dawn the next morning, I heard a shrill scream. It was Mama. I had to confess to the police what had happened the previous night. Helena had taken her own life. Why? I could only guess but never know for sure. Especially since I didn't even know what Sam had done to her. Probably he had abused her, at least that's what I thought, physically as well as mentally. I also knew, but I kept it to myself, that Helena had already taken the worst drugs with him. Fortunately, I had kept my hands off them. Ben was soon history. I closed at that time with my past and emigrated hardly a few days later on my eighteenth birthday to Scotland. To my rich aunt Sara West who owned a country mansion. But I would never forgive myself for what had happened to Helena. I should have protected her from the misfortune. Now I took a cigarette, lit it and smoked. I would not forget. Even though more than sixty years had passed. I should only draw the following conclusions from it, namely that I should have cared for my sister much more and should have kept an eye on her much more. I had to leave my past behind me like a summer rain that suddenly stopped only for the sun to finally shine again. What else could I do in the end? I was an old woman now and the end was coming. Either or. Accept the misfortune or no acceptance?
Merci pour la lecture!
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