One of my "friends" grabs my juice box and empties it all over her. Someone else takes a handful of spaghetti and flings it into her face. Soon everyone is doing it. Everyone is hurling anything they can find at her. Including words. Words that hurt. Words that scar. Words that dig deep and bury themselves under my skin.
Even though they are not aimed at me.
Especially because they are not aimed at me.
Dreadful emotions have been dragged up to the surface, because of these words. Emotions that I had kept buried for so long that I had forgotten how much pain they inflicted. Pain. Anger. Shame. Worst of all, the guilt. Guilt in the form of a thick, agony inducing, ruthless scimitar. It strikes hard and firm. Again and again. Into the essence of my heart shredding anything in its path to pieces. In. Out. In. Out. No mercy is granted for the wicked.
And I am the wicked.
Because I am the one who started it all. I am the one who can see it all. I am the one who can help.
Because I am the one standing here. Doing nothing. Once again.
She holds steady, firm like a tree standing alone in the path of a merciless hurricane. Her face is blank but her head is held up high. Abuse is being yelled at her from all corners of the room and yet, it seems as if she hears nothing. Not a single flinch gives away the fact that she hears it all. That she is feeling it all. But I know. I see. Her eyes have always been the windows to her heart. For those who can see it, her agony is sitting there, clear as snow in a desert. Years ago, she used to raise those bright, foresty green eyes of hers, so much like mine, to meet my gaze. Pleading, without using her voice. Now they are focussed on this single speck on the wall. Something that keeps her strong. Something no one else can see.
Her walls are up, miles high so that no one can get in. Not around her heart, no, not anymore. These barricades are surrounding her soul. Guarding the treasure that lies within. Because the hurt that she has been through is stronger than the pain that pierces hearts. So much stronger. Hurt like this goes through the heart, tearing its way through and into the soul. Staying there. Embedded forever. Into the very thing that makes her believe. She still feels, oh she feels so very much. Her heart is open, if slightly wary, to love and happiness and passion and all those beautiful emotions. But she lacks the will to believe. To believe in love, to believe in happiness. She has been hurt relentlessly since she entered this nightmare called high school and she refuses to let herself be hurt again.
How do I know all this?
I know this because I am her sister.
The one who should have been at her side through all this endless torture.
Except I was not.
Instead I, was the one who started it all. I said that one sentence that set it all off. I saw what was happening and yet, I didn't stop it. I had the power to, but I didn't. Why?
Because I was scared.
I loved my petty status too much. I thought that if I tried to stop this hate it would be turned onto me. Because that is how hate works. It seduces you into believing that whatever you are hating, deserves it. Even when it doesn't. Until you find something that entices this hate even more. It forces your attention towards this new thing. Until something else comes up. It carries on and on, around and around, in an endless cycle of hate. It doesn't stop. It will never stop. Because hate comes hand in hand with being human. It is impossible to find one without the other. It may not be on the surface, but if you look deep enough you'll find it.
Don't even try to lie to me.
Everyone hates.
And those select few who don't? They aren't human.
They're angels. And angels are hard to find in the society we live in now. But I found one. 15 years ago. I held her for the first time and she opened her eyes, mirror images of mine, and smiled. Most babies cry. She didn't. She opened that small, pouting mouth of hers and let out a giggle. With that sound of pure euphoria, I knew. I knew that my sister was an angel.
She grew up to be more perfect than I could ever have guessed. And I got jealous. Jealous of the fact that everyone seemed to like her better. That no one seemed to see me when I was standing next to her. She was unblemished, faultless, adored by simply everyone. I was the ugly sister who no one ever noticed.
I never saw the things I was good at. I never saw the people complimenting me. All I saw were my faults. And my sisters strengths.
So my jealousy grew and grew, like poison ivy on another tree, refusing to stop until it reached the top. At the top, it leeched onto my inner need for hate and the combined force of both was enough to overpower my conscience and morality.
And when my sister joined high school I created hell for her.
I was horrible towards my sister. The most crucifying aspect of this whole scheme was that I got everyone else to do it as well. I would say things to her. Talk about her behind her back. In front of her. Trip her up in the corridor. Make fun of her. All the while with people standing there, right next to me, backing me up. There was nothing she could do. Nothing she could say. I stripped her dignity away from her. I stole any belief she had in the goodness of people.
Now, by standing here idly, as others carry on what I had told them to do, I am even worse than that.
I am disgusting.
I am barbaric.
I AM A MONSTER.
And I must change.
