Third Time's the Charm

"I want to be like you!" Paisley said with tears. "You can be just like me or even better if you really want to." Marie, the older one, responded calmly. The younger was scolded for bringing two glasses of coffee. She was told she was "incapable." She cried because she wanted to be just like Marie. "Really?" The younger's cheeks hurt from the dried-up tears. "Of course. I want you to be better than me, though." The two went back into the house to continue serving the guest. It was Thanksgiving, and there would definitely be an abundance of leftovers. 

Seven years later.

Seven damned years have passed. And Marie hasn't failed to impress everyone in so many fields. She astonished her peers and the adults with the arts, with her personality, academically, and almost everything. It seemed effortless. And that's what annoyed Paisley. Paisley couldn't do it like her; she had to work ten times harder than her to get an average result. Marie was perfect, so how could she hurt an angel? 

Paisley's been blinded by jealousy. Her jealousy grew over the years. She started out wanting to be like the older. Paisley tried to do everything Marie did. Different art mediums, writing, musical instruments, dancing, singing, sports, and academics. Every time the younger saw, the older, there would always be something new. If it was not a competition or bringing a prize home, it was getting praise from someone. 

Every time Paisley would do something similar, she would only get a dull "good job but try harder next time so you can be like Marie, okay?" from all the adults. It pained her that her efforts were never acknowledged except by the 'perfect' Marie. This time it was a painting the discouraged painted. 

"Oh my god! I'm so proud of you! Your painting looks so good. In fact, I'm a bit jealous." The proud one said as she held the painting above her blocking the light. 'No, you can't be jealous because you're better than me. How could you? You're obviously lying.' The latter thought, glaring at her. 

"What are you going to paint next? I'm your number one fan, you know. No, actually, I'm a whole air conditioner. Or, better yet, a jet fan." Marie said as she hung the painting on the bedroom wall. Paisley would tear it down later; it was a disgusting reminder. "I don't know." She said coldly. 

"Marie! It's time to go!" her mom called out to her. Marie said her goodbyes and left out the door with her mother. Leaving Paisley to face her thoughts. She was good at masking her jealousy. Paisley combed her brown hair in the mirror to distract her. That proved futile when she caught herself scheming. 

All those grueling years, those months spent dying, those sleepless nights, the minutes of planning murder, and those seconds of hatred built up. The little girl that once looked up to her is now arranging a homicide. Those were the cogs that worked the most. Paisley felt she needed to get rid of Marie for everyone around to acknowledge her. The only problem was: how could she get rid of her without absolutely anyone knowing? She couldn't trust someone else to do the job and couldn't bear looking at gruesome things. 

Paisley pondered the topic for many long hours. Until at this ungodly hour did she smile; an idea popped into her head. Electricity pumped through her veins. The thought of successfully eradicating the 'great' Marie? She then started chuckling to herself. It was simple yet cruel. 

Hours earlier. At Marie's place. 

Marie sat on the edge of her bed, crisscrossed. She shook the snow globe in her hands. It's like she causes little snowstorms. That's what she says, anyways. 'No matter what Marie does, she'll always cause problems.' Her brain says. And she hates how her brain and heart contradict each other daily. It's like the war will never end. Marie hates how she lies daily, saying she's fine and proud of herself. No, she only does these things because she'll 'never be good enough.'