Hello there, all you loyal WG fans! So, you're all probably wonder why I'm posting on a Saturday, and more importantly, why I'm doing some random one-shot instead of working on Ashes of a New Horizon like I should. Well, you'll soon find out. This will probably be one of the most sentimental stories I'll ever write, simply because it also pertains to myself. I apologize if anyone cries.

The cover was drawn by superstarwordgirl, in case anyone's interested. Look at the cover, and you'll get a glimpse of what I'll be addressing in this story. I admit, I do feel like this story does have vague roots in 'His Izzie,' but believe me, it's something much different.

Okay, you can read the story now!

"My sister will die over and over again for the rest of my life. Grief is forever. It doesn't go away; it becomes a part of you, step for step, breath for breath. I will never stop grieving Bailey because I will never stop loving her. That's just how it is. Grief and love are conjoined, you don't get one without the other. All I can do is love her, and love the world, emulate her by living with daring and spirit and joy."

― Jandy Nelson, The Sky Is Everywhere

"Mom, I'm home!" shouted Tobey as he deposited his backpack carelessly on the floor and slammed shut the screen door. Needless to say, he was in a foul mood once again, plagued with thoughts of that insufferable dolt, Becky Botsford. After getting an –A on his math test, being mercilessly beaten at dodgeball, having another robot army defeated yet again by WordGirl, and to top it all off, coming in second place at the vocab bee to that irritating Becky, today had to be one of the worst days of his life.

Tobey strained his ears to hear the heavy footfalls of his mother marching down the hall to welcome him home or the faint rustling of pages as she prepared for another court case, but there was nothing. All was silent in the house except for one dry sob.

Tobey stopped dead in his tracks as he listened to the barely audible noise emanate from the upstairs bedroom. It felt as if a frigid ice cube had slid down his throat as he remembered with a silent horror what day it was.

Oh no.

Oh please, no.

Not the crying.

But of course she would be crying. Today was the day.

Tobey wanted nothing more than to ignore his mother's grief, but as he did every year, he couldn't resist. Quietly, he crept up the stairs, wincing as the steps creaked under his weight. Fortunately, the noise went unnoticed, and Tobey continued his less-than-silent trek. He put his hand to his mouth in fear she could even hear his breathing, thundering in perfect time to the beats of his heart. Tobey scolded himself for being so silly. After all, it wasn't like he was committing a crime by walking upstairs, despite every nerve in his body screaming to turn back, to forget, to never remember she even existed.

Tobey couldn't let himself think about why he was doing this; the resulting emotions would be too much to bear, simply because there would be no emotion at all. His very own mother was weeping because of it, as she should, but Tobey, even ten years later, couldn't cry with her, no matter how much he wanted to. He wanted to share with his mother the twelve-year grief, which had been bottled up for so long, only to be released today with earth-shattering force. Every year he asked himself how could he stand by, cold and unfeeling, unable to grieve for his own sister. It was just another reason to add to the list of why he was a monster.

Finally, Tobey reached the landing. Pressing his ear to the door, he could hear the faint, hiccupping sobs of his mother. Never before did he have the guts to open the door and see what lay beyond, but this year, he finally thought he was ready to face the unbearable.

Tobey's delicate hand grasped the ice-cold doorknob, chilled with the knowledge of what was behind. The ten-year-old steeled his resolve, reminding himself of why he was doing this. He needed answers. Slowly, Tobey turned the brass doorknob, inching the door open until he could see a clear image of his mother's room.

This was why he should hate his sister.

Tobey's mother lay crumpled and broken at the side of her bed, letting tears, the ultimate sign of weakness, drip from her luminescent crystal blue eyes. Mrs. McCallister's usual determined spirit was shattered today, leaving a feeble, destroyed replica in her place. She was clutching a tear-stained photograph in her trembling hand, and Tobey knew exactly who the picture featured: Sophia Anne, his sister who had died in child labor exactly twelve years ago, died before she had the chance to live. The photo had been taken in the hospital just after her birth. Sophia's breath had been her first and last, her heart failing before she even had the chance to open her eyes and see the world. His little sister. No, that wasn't right. Despite her death, Sophia was two years older than Tobey, but that made no difference. She would always be little, made immortal in death for all eternity.

It was terribly cruel. What kind of a God would get a family so overjoyed about welcoming a new child into the world, only to rip it away? Tobey knew how his mother must have felt, although she never spoke of it. She had decorated the nursery, had a baby shower, chosen the name, felt the baby grow in the depths of her soul, entwined in the beauty of love, held her little creation, her little heaven on Earth, only to learn Sophia was somehow deemed unworthy of life. Why? If Sophia was never destined to live, why create her at all? Sophia had been so beautiful, so innocent, and so perfect. She had an entire glorious future ahead of her, a perfect vision of paradise, and yet somehow it was all taken away from her at the last moment. Tobey was trembling in rage with the injustice of it all.

And yet, despite it all, Tobey still knew he should hate Sophie, and in a way, he did. While indirectly, that little baby girl managed to destroy his parents' marriage, both agreeing to divorce just days afterward. Because of her, his mother had to plow through her life pretending everything was fine as she was plagued of killing her daughter. For that is what she believed she had done, even though she had never told anyone. She hadn't been strong enough for Sophie, so she felt she had to be extra strong for the rest of the world, never allowing herself to cry. Because of Sophia, Tobey's mom had to bottle up a year's worth of sorrow and release it today, on November 10th, the day she failed her daughter in the worst possible day.

But Tobey didn't hate her. He didn't love her either. Maybe he felt a small twinge of pity, but besides that, there was nothing. To him, Sophie was meaningless, like the face of a random stranger murdered and shown on the six o'clock news. And Tobey hated himself for it.

It didn't matter that they had never even met; shouldn't there be some sort of sibling bond tying the two of them together? He had never known Sophie, but shouldn't he care?

But Tobey wanted to know her, wanted to care, but he didn't know how. Of course, talking to his mother about the subject was out of the question. Tobey knew it would be futile to pray to Sophie's spirit, because after all, how could she answer? She would only be a figment of his mind, an imaginary comfort that would tell him what he wanted to hear instead of the truth.

So the young Tobey, at age seven the day he first learned of his sister's existence, began to ask himself seemingly meaningless questions which in fact meant the world to him. What was she like? Did she love chocolate like he did? Did she inherit blonde hair from her mother, or was her hair a soft russet caramel like Father's? Was her favorite color orange or something girlier, like purple or pink? Would she develop a love for building robots like Tobey did? Would they quarrel and hate each other as most siblings seemed to do?

Still, despite his musings, Tobey never told a single soul about Sophie, not that anyone would care. They would look at him strangely and wonder why he even cared. Even if one of his idiotic classmates actually did care for his feelings, which Tobey doubted, all they would do is slather an access of pity upon him, pity he didn't need. If there was one thing Tobey hated, it was when people pitied him. He didn't need anyone's sympathy, especially when it came to Sophie. After all, everyone knows that no matter how important a person should be, you can't grieve for someone you've never known.

But that's the worst part.

Softly shutting the door behind him, Tobey quietly descended the stairs, in perfect rhythm with his dripping tears, hating himself more and more with each step he took.

Okay, I think I owe you all an explanation for that:

As I'm sure you deduced, I also have a sister who died in child labor. About 80% of what Tobey felt were taken directly from my own emotions from a few months ago, albeit a bit dramatized/altered/distorted to fit the story. Over time, however, I have a more positive outlook when it comes to this. The only two aspects I strongly disagree with are that he should hate Sophie and that prayer is imagination. I could never possibly hate my sister; even the thought of it is painful. I love her, I really love her. And the reason I do love her is because I've been able to pray to her, to learn about her until I know her as well as I know myself. Don't tell me I'm imagining it. Don't tell me I'm crazy. Don't tell me I'm wrong to be sad when it doesn't matter. I don't care if I am.

Mrs. McCallister, on the other hand, was absolutely nothing like my parents. My mother doesn't keep a picture of her, and I don't even think she has or wants one. It's like she skipped over that part of her life without a second thought, that I'm her only daughter. Neither of my parents think about her whatsoever, which is precisely why I pity her. Even though I never knew her, she is my sister, and I feel like that should count for something. Even if it was only for a moment, she did exist.

The reason why I wrote this story was because I feel this matter has barely, if ever, been addressed, so I felt like the idea should be put out there. I understand it must be a million times worse to lose someone when you actually know them, and if anyone has ever had to experience such pain, allow me to send you my sincerest condolences. Still, this sort of thing still leaves an impact upon a person. I'm not making this up in order to gain sympathy from anyone. By all means, if you just hit that back button and don't say a word, it won't make a difference to me. This was like a diary entry for me. I display my emotions through writing, and WordGirl is a good medium for me to express my feelings.

This story was written in the loving memory of my sister, who died before she had a chance to live.

Rest in peace, Christy Anne. You would be 14 today.

Love to all, especially Christy Anne,

Bella