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"She died because of me," I said, my voice seeming to stand out throughout the whole open space of the cemetery.
I stared at the tombstone, where the name Shannon Maureen Richards is written, along with a date, first day of February, which I remembered being my birthdate. Beside it is a dashed line, also engraved on the stone, following another date, which obviously was the date when she died.
The date she died after I pushed her down the stairs.
"You didn't meant it," Georgia said, wrapping her arms around her body as she gazed at the grave before landing her eyes on me, "it was... unexpected. You didn't mean to kill her."
A gust of wind blew my cheeks, the lighted candle being blown, causing the little fire producing the light sway, almost close to being burned out.
"Why did I pushed her?" I asked, wanting to hear the answer and see if my flashback about that day is accurate. If it really happened.
"You two were fighting," Georgia answered, taking a matchbox out from her purse and leaning down the grave to light the burnt out candle, "the two of you were so close as a child. But at that time, things just kind of like... changed. You two started fighting, a lot. And then, one of you would like, pretend to be the other sometimes, even if I'm the one who raised the two of you, I also get confused."
I nodded, though it wasn't completely in understanding but more like urging her to continue.
The wind is cold, touching my bare arms, I should've listened to Georgia when she told me to bring a jacket or atleast a cardigan with me.
It's starting to snow afterall.
I looked at Georgia's intent gaze onto the grave. Her eyes glassy, a lose strand of hair dangling on her face. Wrinkle lines visible on her forehead, making her look old more than her age.
"It's getting cold," she said after a few more minutes of silence, "we should get going."
I looked down onto the grave, my eyes lingering onto the name engraved on it, feeling chills run down my spine.
Knowing that I was the reason why a girl is lying down six feet below it.
"You didn't wanted what happened," I heard Georgia's voice spoke beside me, touching my shoulders gently and hesitantly, "no one wanted it."
"But I still did what I did," I said, "I pushed her, and... and... she died."
"People do mistakes, honey," she said, "don't blame yourself."
"Is it also a mistake when I almost killed you?" I asked, turning my gaze towards her. There's both confusion and desperation laced in my voice, along with fear with whatever she has to say, to reveal about myself that I don't have any idea yet.
You almost killed me that night.
It's the only thing that's echoing through my head since the moment I heard that statement.
