It was a beautiful day, until he showed up. I spent most of my time in graveyards. I practically lived there. How ironic, really, that he was the one to die and not me. He hated this place, wanted sunlight and laughter, not cold stone and fading names. But I was different. Death fascinated me. I was drawn to it, comforted by what others feared.

“Mia.” It was soft, chilling, and barely above a whisper, but it was him. Oh, my beautiful older brother. I froze, dread sinking into my skin. I wanted him gone, wanted him to leave me in peace. I didn’t want him standing there. Floating there. Slightly transparent as I looked at him. I don’t do emotions. I just don’t care for them. They take too much time and too much energy.

Face blank, I shoved my hands deep in my pockets, voice steady. “Leave me alone, Sam.” But deep down, I knew: it was hopeless. He wouldn’t leave. He never left. He was here to haunt me—taunt me—drag me into the darkness I once thought I understood, but never truly did.

“Mia, please.” His hand reaches out as if to take my hand. I flip my hood on and walk away. I knew he would beg. Knew he would demand why I did what I did. I knew nothing would work, nothing would silence the voice. His voice. Once beautiful and full of hope. Now, a mocking chill, a taunt of what I had done. What I’d lost.

Yet it was beautiful, seeing him again—even if it wasn’t really him. It felt good. But it wasn’t remorse haunting me, just the secrets between us, buried as deep as the surrounding graves. I walked into the shadows, desperate to escape, hoping he would vanish.

Peace isn’t mine to claim; maybe it never was. I am pursued by him, by what I’ve done, longing only for silence. Instead, I have his voice—and the chilling certainty that this is the punishment I deserve.

My feet take me to his grave. I don’t try to go there; I just end up there. Maybe it was my body telling me I should’ve been the one 6 feet under. I remember the blood. So much blood. How it covered me and stuck to me. It’s beautiful how blood sticks to things, as if to claim everything it touches. Death claimed him sooner than others. Fate has a way of making others suffer. As much as I miss him, I know. Now it was only a matter of time till death took hold in another way. If not me, he would’ve died at the same age. I did him a favor. Helped him from life’s suffering. I helped him. Some might say that makes me insane. I’m not. I’m surviving.

“You monster.” He hisses at me. He darts at me. Not passing through me. No. Taking hold of me. I scream and fall to my knees. I start to laugh as the pain takes hold.

“You can not break me.” I giggle through the twitching. Then I see him. Not him, but him as a boy playing with me. Mocking my lost innocence. Mocking what he was. I scramble and run over.

“Sam!” I cry. Reaching for him. But he turns into the translucent Sam who haunts me. Suddenly, his body twitches. Blood flows out of him. His neck slits open. He loses three of his fingers. Eyes half in, half out of their sockets. He looks like how he did when I left him.

“Miss me?” he says. Head tilting. Blood gushing out of him.

“I did what I had to do,” I told Sam.

“You lied to them,” he responds.

“They wouldn’t understand why,” I mutter, looking away. Our mother thought this was my way of grieving him. Coming here all the time. In a way, it is. Not out of regret, but out of missing what I once knew.

“Did you ever love me?” He asked, coming closer to me.

“Yes! I did-do! I helped you!” I yell. I try to hug him, but only pass through.

“No!” I scream. I lunge at him. He disappears. No. No! How dare he leave me like this! I stumble and fall to my knees at his grave. I see a flicker of movement behind me. Sam. I scramble after him. Needing him. Wanting to see him again.

He leads me to the gates of the graveyard.

“Leave. Go. Live,” he tells me, still with the gore all over him.

“Why? They think I’m a freak. A monster.” I spit out.

“Why did you do it? Why do you think you helped me?” He asks. Softer.

I remember that fateful October night. I didn’t plan on killing him. But he kept insisting. Saying the voices were too loud. I silenced them. I helped him. He was mine to protect. Mine to kill. It was morbidly beautiful. His screams. Oh, the beautiful screams.

“Stop! Mia!” Sam had cried. Screamed. Blood everywhere. I remember the feeling of…well, nothing. I let the blankness take over. Such beauty. Death. How easily the fingers came off. Yes. I did that before slitting his throat. Oh…the blood as I slowly slit it. God. Beautiful. His eyes. Too alive. Too much. They had to go. I used my hands. Squishy. Blue. Beautiful. I don’t regret it. No. Sam might be gone, but my masterpiece still lives. I don’t walk out of the graveyard different. No. I walk out knowing it’s only a matter of time till I’ll make a new, better masterpiece. More intricate than the last. With no one in my way. No one to stop me. Oh, what a beautiful day it is.