I don’t remember what happened after she told me. I only remember waking up, and what I thought about while I was out. Mother had left my small bedroom when I woke up, probably figured she should give me time. I walked over to the mirror, and looked at myself. I never was quite content with my appearance, having the most beautiful young woman in the world as my sister and all. I never had the grace that she always did. She was thin and dainty, and I’ve always just been skinny in some places and not in others. Awkwardly tall, and laughably clumsy. Not that I’ve ever laughed at myself for being a klutz. I guess that has  become other people’s jobs, because now, it just makes me feel ashamed. I hate myself. I hate myself. You may not know what it feels like to hate yourself, but I do. I know what it feels like, and it’s not a good feeling.
    When I was passed out, I saw fire. At first, I didn’t know what was burning, or where the fire came from. I didn’t know until it calmed down and I could wave away the smoke and ash with a slicing hand through the thick air. When it cleared, I saw my house, burning. My mother and I, inside. Her dousing my room with gasoline and throwing the match, climbing into bed with me and holding me as we burned alive. Telling me that Claire was everything she ever wanted in a child, and more. That I was a mistake that she had always regretted.
    I woke up with tears in my eyes. I wouldn’t have known, but I did look at myself in the mirror, after all. My skin was parched, and my eyes were red. My stomach ached for nutrients. Walking to the kitchen was a feat, considering I hadn’t stood since yesterday. My eyes tried to lock on the refrigerator as I entered the room, but someone who looked familiar from behind blocked my view. That must be one of Claire’s other friends, Angelique, I thought. One that wasn’t part of the accident. She turned around when she heard my footsteps, and smiled. In that moment, I realized why she was so familiar. There, Claire stood before me, brunette hair, hazel eyes and all. Her features seeming more pronounced, as if her baby fat had somehow evaporated and contributed to her bustline.
    “You’re here,” she stated.
    “I thought you were dead!” I  exclaimed, then asked “Where’s mom?”
    “She wasn’t allowed to come here, Delilah,” she explained.
    “What do you mean,” I laughed, happy to see Claire again. “This is her house!”
    “Delilah,” she started.
    “What?”    
“You’re dead.”