"12 years ago I would have never even...", no that's not right. What was I even doing? I sighed and put down "the book" and its matching pen. That's all I could call it for now, it was just a book. "The glittery purple book", what else was there to say about it? 4 years ago, I found the book, laying in my sister's room, but now she was dead, and it was just a book. It's not like we saw it coming, it just became too much for her. Mom sobbed for days, she claimed it was the pressure she put on her to be successful. All dad said was, "Don't end up like her, Janice, it's not worth it". Dad was never one to show emotion, his macho mustache positioned right above his lips, the muscles praticaly bulging out of his sweatshirts. He was one of those "mess with my family and regret it" guys. Granny stopped visiting after it all happened. My sister was her favorite, as much as she denied it, she never called me on my birthday. To be honest, I never even minded, it was Mom who fussed, she didn't like it at all. The book was a gift from Granny, my sister never wrote in it. Sometimes, in tne morning, I would catch her staring at the book. It was as if she knew, it was like she knew the book was not deservng of the secrets she took with her to the grave. I always noticed something was wrong with my sister, her head hung lower than normal, her forehead full of worry lines. Her name was Violet, which was her favorite color by coincidence. Violet used to be a cheerful child, I remember when she was 5, Violet would not eat anything unless it was purple. Mom had to dye her broccoli, tomato sauce, vanilla ice cream, etc, everything Violet ate was purple. Later on, Violet just stopped, she didn't eat, she shut herself in, blasted loud music. I would stand outside her door and just stare, eventually Mom would come up and tell me to nap. It sucked to have an older sister who never was there. I never understood but I let it be, I learned on my own that Violet wasn't healthy.
