She sat on the cold stone when the rain started to fall. There was no wind and the water felt almost comfortable as it ran down her face.
‘It’s only the rain,’ she thought and looked down on the stone. There was a simple cross at the head of it, nothing fancy, nothing expensive. It had been hard enough to pay for the funeral…
She felt like saying something, but couldn’t really. What was there to say anyway? Absentmindedly she plucked a leaf of weed from the side of the stone plate. Her gaze drifted over the writing on the plate, over the date. Ten years to the day now. Ten years in which she hadn’t quite understood what had killed her sister. But now she knew!
Back then, fate had killed her, bad luck. Think of the tiny chance of getting that particular disease for which no cure existed. Yet. Now, years later, the mechanisms of the disease were finally understood. She had found out about that accidentally, while searching for something completely different on the web. And there it was: The infection, the symptoms, the cure. What would heal you and what would kill you off. A certain type of blood pressure drug would, but who could have known back then?
‘Killed by the wrong prescription,’ she thought, ‘poor Lilly.’ But there was no humour in her thoughts when she finally rose and said good-bye to her sister, as she did every year. It was still raining when she left the cemetery.