'write a story about memories based on the picture below.'
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We would call each other sisters. I know I wanted us to be. We were so similar. Never apart; practically attached at the waist. If someone saw you, they'd always see me too, right beside you, beaming from ear to ear at my favourite person in the world.
Now, your keen, smiling face, illuminated gracefully by the summer sun takes me back to it. Back to a time where we'd waddle through the sandy paradise below. Back to a time where we'd lap up ice creams, without you stopping to care about calories. Back when you'd skip, never strut. Back to a time where we'd not a care in the world.
I remember we'd teeter at the edge of the waves and then spread our wings and go running into the warm, welcoming waters. Fighting the tide splashing at our bright, bathing-suited bodies, laughing thoroughly, feeling the wind rush past our faces, the water healing our hearts, my wide grin would meet your colourful eyes. I remember how it felt now. It felt freeing. It felt as though we were flying.
But today, you sit opposite me, and as you perch, perfectly grounded, feeling above all the masses on the murky, miserable sand below us, i can feel myself teetering. But it's not the same as before. Nothing seems to be these days.
I can almost feel myself losing balance, falling, falling, falling. I collide with the water, feeling it stinging my body. The water is much too cold now, and I don't fight it as I sink, miles and miles below. I'm done fighting.
A blink and I'm warped back, met with your face again. I frown. I wonder what you'd do, if you'd even bat an eyelid if I disappeared. You certainly wouldn't come running after me. You wouldn't want to take your heels off. Or get your hair wet, and God forbid you crease your dress. You wouldn't want to be caught looking scruffy, would you?
You brandish your elegant, manicured hand up to cover your exposed teeth, peeking out of your glossy lips, cackling falsely. Your skirt is billowing as a pack of boys walk past.
Perfectly executed, I must say.
But it's not like you'd have to try. Everyone's eyes flicker to your bright blonde hair, striking polka-dot dress and shiny white heels as you rise higher, feasting on the golden sun. But the light only seems to burn me, and no one cares to glance as I slink back into your shadows. Retreating.
I don't have to brush my still, scruffy dress down, even the wind seems to take no notice of me. My dull, grey shoes shuffle awkwardly and I don't care to tuck my unruly brown mane behind my ears.
In-fact, I don't seem to find myself caring about much nowadays, but don't get me wrong.
I am far from careless.
You gave me life once, but now you've taken mine and everything I've ever wanted for yourself. You used to be my escape but now I feel as if I'd do anything to escape you.
So flawless. So frustrating. So perfect. So punchable.
Every muscle in me aches to just take off and not look back but I'm trapped, caged in, rigid all over, stuck in place gazing at your spiteful smirk, and I, like so many before me steal a fleeting second to glance into your empty eyes. And I realise just how much different I've grown to be from my so-called 'sister', and just how much I've grown to hate my favourite person in the world.
