She Was Killed

It's only been a few hours since my sister, Linda, got killed. I'm not over it. Not at all. An old lady, whom I believe just moved to the neighbourhood recently, is carrying food over to my house and I'm thankful that she's helping me get over my loss.

A knock on my door. It's the kind lady again. I want to ask her about some cooking tips since the broth was so good, but then...

"Please, sweetie, forget. Your sister is dead."

I'm shocked at the woman's attitude. Her eyes glare sternly at me.

"I...I was just going to ask you about the broth. I can handle it on my own, thank you very much." I clear my throat angrily.

Despite my own tone, her pale blue eyes immediately soften into kindness.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry for my behavior. It just pains me to see others in pain, that's all." Her voice trembles a little. Oh, I couldn't possibly be mad at her.

"Do you...do you need any help?" the lady asks after a moment.

"I just want some cooking tips. I feel like I should start getting into an activity again. You know, moving on." A nervous chuckle.

"Ah, yes. Er, I grilled your sister."

What. Oh my God.

"This is NOT funny. I repeat, NOT funny. Do NOT joke about it."

The old lady cackles. "But I did! I was the one who killed her! I shot her with my own hands!"

I'm shocked. I can't believe this, I can't believe the "little old lady across the street" could have done this. I prepare to scream.

"You, an ancient geezer, could NOT have beaten my sister in that Call of Duty marathon!"

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