Book of Boris — Chapter XLV: The Boulder of Blood
I really do love my sister. That’s never been in question. But the weight I carry for her… it’s the size of a boulder.
Every broken thing, every bill that whispers my name, every silence heavy with expectation — it all stacks into that stone. And up the hill I go, body be damned.
It’s not duty. It’s not legacy. It’s love — plain and brutal. Love that keeps my hands against rough stone even as it scrapes skin and cracks bone.
But here’s the truth I whisper to myself on the climb: If she leaves this world, the boulder leaves with her. I won’t be chained to stone. I won’t let a house or history roll back down and crush me flat.
While she breathes, I’ll climb.
If she goes, I’ll release.
That’s not weakness. That’s survival.
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