I don't know what I am going to do if something was to happen to my little sister, Ramey.  If she were to die, I don't think I could ever forgive myself.

You see, before Ramey took ill the other day, we'd been arguing.  Arguing has been a normal activity, ever since we were old enough to communicate to each other.  Ramey is the family pet; in our parents' eyes, she can do no wrong, even if she's at fault!  Meanwhile, any little infraction, and I get chewed up and then spit back out for good measure!

Ramey is ten.  I am thirteen.  My name's Sunny, but right now, I am feeling anything but. 

Anyway, back to my story.  Ramey had gotten into my clothes once too many times.  I had had it; so we started arguing.  Then she went to her room; an hour later, we heard a terrible "thud".  It sounded like something or someone had fallen; it sounded like whatever it was was going to fall right through the floor.

It scared us silly.  Mom, dad, and I went tearing upstairs; it sounded like it came from Ramey's room.  We called her name.  No answer.  We did this several times.  No response.  I opened up the door--and that was when we discovered Ramey lying on the floor, not moving.  She looked dead!

It scared us stupid.  Mom started screaming; daddy had me call for an ambulance while he stayed by my little sister's side.  We didn't know what had happened, only that Ramey's face was awfully white.  She looked terrible!

It seemed to take forever before the ambulance arrived.  Soon, paramedics were tending to Ramey, trying to get her to respond; but nothing.  One slipped an oxygen tube into her nose, hooked her up to a heart monitor, and started taking her blood pressure.  The other paramedic shooshed me out of the room; they told me to leave them do their work; they'd take good care of my sister, they'd promised.

It was the worst moment of our lives.  We didn't know what was going on or whether Ramey would survive. 

Soon, we were following the ambulance to the hospital.  The closest one was about ten miles away (it seemed like a hundred).  We were praying, hoping that Ramey would live, that she would be okay.  All I kept seeing in my mind's eye was Ramey's pale, sweat-soaked face and feeling guilty because I somehow felt that I was responsible for bringing this on to her.

I felt that Ramey's becoming sick was my fault.

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At the hospital, we seemed to wait forever for a doctor to come talk to us about my little sister.  Mom ws wringing a damp kleenex in her hands; daddy suddenly looked like he was ninety years old:  he'd aged so much.  I, meanwhile, tried to busy myself with looking at what was in the vending machine, trying to decide what I'd wanted to nibble on; I was suddenly ravenously hungry.

We thought about Ramey, who was probably back in the ER, people doing awful things to her.  I was wondering if they'd have to use the heart paddles on her that they used if a person's heart stopped beating, or if they were doing CPR on her, hoping for her to start breathing again.  I started crying all over again, which set mom off.  Daddy got angry, told us both to shut up; people were looking at us.

Soon, a dark-skinned doctor with black,wavy hair approached us.  He said his name was Dr. JaggedEdge, or something like that; he spoke with a heavy accent; we didn't really understand him.  He said he'd talk to us about what was going on with the little girl that'd been brought in to the ER.

Mom told him that was her daughter, Ramey Melissa, and that she was 10 years old. 

Dr. JaggedEdge then said that Ramey had suffered a stroke.  It was a bad one.  Right now, she was still unconscious; there were no guarantees as to whether she'd wake up or if she did, whether she'd have brain damage.

That was the last thing I remember before I mercifully passed out.

~End of part one.~