The Blaming Girl

She saw him in the dim light, coming toward her. When he got close enough, he said, “Do you remember that day five years ago?” “What are you talking about?” she asked, though she knew. She was even surprised that he remembered. “You know. I know you know.” “My brother’s death was all your fault,” she said, though she knew it wasn’t. She just wanted someone to blame. She didn’t want to blame him, she loved him. But in another part of herself, she hated him. And she couldn’t blame herself. “No,” he said. “Please realise it wasn’t my fault.” “Go home,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about this now.” “And you never will, will you?” he replied. Then he turned and walked home.
The next day when she got the newspaper, she saw the headline MAN KILLED IN 5 -CAR ACCIDENT . Pathetic, she thought. Skimming over the article, the name of the man caught her eye. It was him. She sat down at the kitchen table, put her head down, and began to cry. It was then that she knew that everything was her fault.

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