Trifecta Writing Challenge: Cut Out Ones Will Suffice

For Trifecta Writing Challenge: Prompt is Year (as in usually represented by a number)
NOTE:
How this one came to be, I have absolutely no idea. At first it was about sisters. Then it was about basements. Then I watched too much Supernatural. 
Suffice to say, this one is the most scary 333 words I've ever written.
Hear me?
Morbid! Very! Apologies in advance for any nightmares.

source: http://vvola.deviantart.com

I'm calling this....CUT OUT ONES WILL SUFFICE. Here we go!

“Rose.”

Three times, like a charm. Whispered so soft that I can pretend not to have heard it; pretend that the sound of my name has gotten lost in the space between us; has become entangled in the clouds of hair that spans a golden bridge between us.

“It’s time, Rose. It’s almost here, the new year.”

“I wish it weren’t.”

“I’m sorry, Rose.”

I open my eyes. Marie’s eyes are open and violently blue. Ships are wrecked in the maelstrom of those irises. Cornflower fields bloom in mine.

I hurt inside, a raw and terrible hurt. It colors my voice pale. “This year hurts more than any, Marie.”

“I know, sister.”

“Why should we do it every year? Dying is not so bad. Birds do it. Plants do it. Butterflies, they don’t even live a week…”

Marie smoothes the curve of my cheek with her soft, young hand. “But you and me, Rose. You and me, here forever. You wanted it too.”

“A hundred years ago, maybe I did…”

“We’ll stop, Rosie. We’ll stop, just not this year.”

Our feet are silent against the stairs, silent all the way to the table. My shoulders shake. She gives me the scissors and picks up her knife, but then the scissors fall from my fingers.

Crash, the sound of my heart breaking.

“Will you do it alone?”

Marie goes to the basement. I sit at the table and think of him. His eyes are blue too, blue as the deep ocean. He likes to dance. He smokes too much. Paints. Falls for girls who will be the death of him.

Now he also probably hates basements.

Marie is back. One bloody Ziploc in her arms. Marked Year 2013.

“Too quick?”

“He was a quiet one.”

I cut a lock of her hair, one lock of mine. We put it in the Ziploc. The spell is too short for something so significant.

Some sell immortality in return for broken hearts.

Cut out ones will suffice.