Remember how Mother would say every time we’d get hiccups, that somewhere somebody must be thinking of you, or missing you, or talking of you. And at the mention of their name, the hiccups will stop. She’d say the hiccups serve as a reminding-tool, making us keep our loved ones in our hearts forever, never letting us forget them.
Well, I sit here tonight in the cold of your abandoned room, my face buried in a pillow, wet with tears and blood. The soft muffling my sobs. Your rusting blade is in my hand, speckled with blood that’s been running stale now. It’s 3 am and I’ve been thinking of you. Fresh warm scarlet is trickling down my arms. Have those hiccups come yet? I miss you. Your memories are poisoning my present. Everyday they grow and consume my sanity inch by inch.
Have those hiccups come already? Have you taken my name yet? They tell me to forget you. How can I? They tell me you’re in a better place. Is that true? Then why would you leave me in such misery? You haven’t forgotten your big sister have you? Why don’t those hiccups come? I’m going mad maybe, for expecting you to think of me. Yes, I must be going mad, expecting corpses to hiccup and speak.