"Damnit Christine, god damnit, call 911!" I shouted, dropping my sisters limp body on the bed. There was froth around her mouth, and her eyes were closed. Her lips were bee-stung swollen and blue.

It was too late. Here dark curls were tangled in my lap, wet with leave in them.

I turned her on her side, and water dribbled from her mouth. CPR, how did it go? It didn't matter. My little girl was gone. That foam told me all I needed to know.

My sister came in, the phone in her hand.

" they are coming."

" tell them not to rush."

Christine knelt by my and pulled Anna into her lap. She was so small, for a nine year old. A nine year old who would never be ten.

" it's my fault." Said Christine, weeping into her hands.

" what do y mean? I asked.

She pulled back the wet curls to show a thing cut on our sister's tiny neck.

" she asked me to help her take it off, and I was too busy."

The crucifix was in the filter. So much for god.