Disclaimer: I am not in anyway JK Rowling. Tis sad but tis true.
You clench your fingers against the palm of your hand. You feel your nails scraping and scratching and pressing themselves against your skin. You feel your nails dig and dig but the pain does not register. You do not realize that anything is happening to your hand.
Your eyes are too transfixed on the scene in front of you.
All you see is her tousled blonde hair that looks like it was woven out of glitter and gold and diamonds. All you see is her beautiful angelic smile that reminds you of puppies and babies and hopes and dreams that you’ll never achieve. All you see is her perfect being and wonder how you could ever compare to that angel standing right there in front of you.
Because that’s what she is, an angel. And maybe she doesn’t have wings but she doesn’t need them. Because her smile is enough to lift everything around her and swirl it into clouds and push it above the sky and into the unknown. To bring it back down softly and slowly, swaying back and forth in front of you.
And you look at her and wonder how you could possibly ever compare to her. How could your tangled hair and smattering of freckles and pale complexion ever compare to her angelic features? How could you ever be anything standing next to her, when you know everyone’s wondering how she wound up so beautiful and you did not.
And as you dug your nails into the palm of your hand you wished she wasn’t beautiful. You wished that life was fair and good people had good things happen to them and bad people wound up at the bottom of lakes, cold and lifeless and broken into tiny pieces until there was nothing left of them except for dust. You wished that she didn’t always have to make you look even worse than you already did.
You wish she didn’t exist, and even though that may sound horrible, you don’t care.
All you care about is that she’s standing there right in front of you, the perfect model of perfection, and there he is smiling at her and thinking he’s so incredibly lucky that she gave him a second glance. Thinking that there couldn’t be anything better than this angel standing in front of him.
And maybe he’s right; maybe she’s more beautiful than you will ever be. Maybe she knows more than you about every single situation that comes up and bites you in the arse. But did he ever think, that maybe he was wrong?
Maybe she doesn’t know anything about anybody, and maybe her singing sounds like nails on a chalkboard, and the squeaking of opening windows, and the cries of tortured children. Maybe her humor isn’t funny, and it’s just cruel and hurtful, and makes the people she uses for her jokes cry alone in their rooms at night, wishing that one day they’ll wake up and finally be somebody else. Maybe she doesn’t appreciate any of the boys she has wrapped around her finger, and tosses them aside as soon as the sun rises and sets and fades and withers and disappears behind the treetops before finally being replaced by the moon.
But, you see that he doesn’t know all these things about her that you know. You see that she laughs at something he says, and it sounds like the scraping of knives against metal, but he doesn’t notice because he’s laughing with her. His face is cracked up into that beautiful smile that makes you feel like everything will be okay as long as he keeps on smiling and never, ever stops. And his contagious laughs spread through your entire being and you wish it was you making him laugh instead of her.
And you wish maybe for once your sister could stop ruining every single moment of your life, and stop making you wish that she was dead.
Because then you feel like a monster for wishing something bad on her. Because then you feel sorry for her and feel like maybe the life that was handed to you on this cheap plastic platter was well deserved. You feel like you’re just like her in every way and it makes you want to scrub yourself raw until you have nothing left of yourself except bones and a broken heart.
You look at the big round table placed in front of you. You wonder if tables this big took forests to make, and if tables like this laden with food and drinks and forks and spoons could serve an entire starving country. You wonder if this table could open you up and swallow you whole, and then spit you out and leave you nothing other than what you started with.
You wonder if your bitten fingernails, pasty complexion, and too big toes, would come back and be what it was supposed to be. Grown and creamy and correctly sized.
But as you look at the end of the table and see your sister’s lips forming letters and numbers, maybe even forming a cure to cancer, you don’t listen. You watch him staring up at her with that lopsided smile.
You think she doesn’t deserve him. She doesn’t deserve him and his witty remarks and dirty fingernails and the way he always forgets to turn off the lights when he leaves a room. She doesn’t deserve his adoring gaze and corny jokes. She doesn’t deserve to be standing there holding his hand making an announcement to the whole family that they have decided to spend the rest of their life with each other.
You want to throw something. You want to grab your sister by her glitter and gold and diamond hair and tell her she is taking the one thing from you that you wanted to keep as your own. You want to break her as she’s broken you every time you see them together smiling and laughing and happy.
You want her to be as miserable as you are every time you look in the mirror.
“I do.” Two words. Simple, with such a huge meaning behind them. You stand in your hideous dress and watch as your sister and the one person that you love most in the world kiss each other.
You feel your heart tear into pieces, and wonder if you’ll ever heal and love and laugh again. You feel every cell locked up in your body wanting to reach out and tear them apart, and rip the veil off your sister’s head and place it onto your own.
You feel like your crazy, but you’re so past caring that you just let these thoughts overcome you and hope that they’ll eventually disappear. You hope that this is a dream and you will wake up and find that they never even met, and that instead he falls for you with your clumsy ways and so-so looks. You hope that he hates glitter and gold and diamonds.
You watch them laugh and smile and that’s when it hits you. She might’ve chosen him, but he chose her too. He didn’t think you were worth enough to look past what you seemed and figure out what you are. He didn’t want to be with you, just as she didn’t want you to be with him.
You might hate your sister, but you should hate him just as much. You should hate how he always clucks his tongue before turning a page of his book. You should hate how he taps his foot whenever he’s nervous. You should hate that he chose her over you and left you to sit there with nothing but thoughts that float up and away only to return when you’re alone wallowing in self-pity.
You should hate them both. But you only hate her.
You feel like you deserved the cheap, plastic platter life was handed to you on. And you do. You deserve every single bad thing that’s happened in your life. You belong at the bottom of a lake, dead and cold and torn into so many pieces that you’re nothing but dust, twirling away in the sky.
You take a deep breath. You walk forward and look down at your too big toes and then look at the lake that is staring you smack in the face. You think of him and her and what should have been yours.
You dip your too big toes into the water and gasp at the sheer coldness that meets your pasty skin. You second guess yourself and wonder if this is what you should be doing. If maybe things will get better if you just stick it out for a little longer.
If he’ll realize he loves you and you love him and you’re not just the clumsy little sister that he thinks of you as.
But as soon as the thought flits by, you realize it’s stupid. He will never love you when he is in love with glitter and gold and diamonds.
And so you jump off the end of the dock and into the lake. You don’t know how to swim, but you don’t need to know. You’re submerged in the water, and you don’t want to come back up.
A/N: I wrote this about a month ago when I was going through a very depressing writing phase so I finally decided to post it.
Any critiques/thoughts will be greatly appreciated, and I always reply to my reviews if you have questions.
Thanks for reading this<3
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