Love Is a Broken String

When I was five, I begged my sister to fly a kite. The wind took it from me. Then, the string cut her throat.

At the funeral, my parents' grief turned on me.

"I just wanted to play with her," I sobbed, struggling to explain. "I didn't know it would happen."

From that day on, my parents despised me.

Years later, when my school announced a kite festival, my mother snapped.

"You killer! My daughter is dead because of your kites! You love them so much? Fine. Fly one. Fly it until you break!"