Toman's Little Sister

83 | Time Leaper

My little brother died a few years later.

I remember that her face was blank at his funeral, lacking tears. Her face was facing the floor the entire time.

I wonder if it's my fault. Seeing my strong face for so long, perhaps she thought that I viewed crying as weak.

She's always been really blank, though.

She sat with her god brother the entire time, leaning her head on his shoulder like she always did.

I didn't dare to think she was insensitive.

She was always expressing with her eyes; her eyes were sad.

Actually, they always seemed sad. Conflicted. Something was always hidden behind them.

It's like every time I was near her, I could hear the cogs in her head turning, rusty from how long and how much they've been doing that.

And, like I said, she was only a small girl.

•••

I think she was the only one who kept me sane. Or... everyone in that family sane to be honest.

My little sister would've run away a long time ago. But she found a sort of sisterhood in her. Like she were family the entire time.

I heard her speak at my grandpa's funeral. She had a lot to say, but at the same time so little.

Her words were simple but meaningful. Always meaningful.

I don't know what it was about her. She seemed... just so bright.

Every strange impulse I felt, dark and blinding, she'd suddenly appear. Whether it be with a gift or with simply a smile. But she always had a story to tell, as if she had lived a thousand lives.

Some sounded fiction, some sounded as if they could truly happen.

And some, I'm not sure.

"And when he linked fingers with the small girl, he went back in time. He only had one regret before his untimely death and as if the clocks were all in his favour, the cogs paused and went backwards."

My little sister's eyes went wide with wonder. "He went back in time?!"

She nodded. "He said that he had one thing he wanted to change and suddenly he got a chance to change it, as if the Gods were merciful to him and allowed him to turn away from Death's Door."

Another thing about time travel. From her question, to her favourite American movie; it's less of a passion and more like a hobby at this point.

I'd listen to her stories just like my little sister would: intently, asking questions, showing shock, sadness, and relief when need be.

But one question I never asked her was where she got these stories.

They seemed so detailed, as if she lived these lives herself.

Sometimes, when she wasn't at my house, I'd try to recall these stories with as much detail as she had. But it never quite worked.

I couldn't picture a fighter with the stature of a young boy but with the strength of a thousand men.

I couldn't picture two best friends who bonded over something as small as yakisoba and being torn apart by death.

I couldn't picture a boy that never had a parental figure at home so he learned how to sew to make toys for his little sisters.