The one about the head of my sister.

It was a total tragedy. My sister dies at fifteen in a train accident, all messed up. Except her head. While mourning for her, my family members start hearing rumors about her being miraculous. The rumors became a cult. The thing is, my sister's head was invulnerable. Her head wasn't damaged at all in the train wreck, and even dead, her head wasn't decomposing.

People started coming to see it by themselves. It was true. Her head was pristine, but for us, for me, it was still my older sister. The cult became a part of the church. They built some temple for her head where people could go to see her. I remember the altar. It was all made of crystal, sometimes they put flowers there, giving it some color. Her head was inside a crystal cube on a pedestal, so people could watch her from every direction. They put her a crown, like a quinceañera (this is similar to a humble crown in one of those female beauty contests). To get to her head, people had to climb like a hundred crystal steps, curved, not straight.

My sister's head wasn't neither alive. The head didn't age but also wouldn't talk. Her eyes were always shut, but you could see her face, her mouth displaying different recognizable expressions, like a shy smile or some concern. She looked beautiful.