Special

Angels

When we first got to school, nobody noticed us. We walked into the lobby of the large building used for our high school.
Its as regular as any public school is. The kids are loud.
The teachers could be better.
The classes are medium sized.
No one paid us any mind though.
Eonai and I are in the top class here. We are taking college courses now.
Nobody pays us any mind though.
Correction.
Nobody pays me  any mind.
Eonai is a rebel.
She's always getting in trouble, even if she doesn't mean to.
Eonai is a slacker.
She's so smart, but she hates doing the work.
Eonai is a lover.
She hates seing people hurt, people crying.
Eonai is a hater.
She can't trust anybody. I don't think she even truly trusts me.
Eonai has pride.
Eonai has pain.
Eonai has hate.
And Eonai has problems.
Shes always had a harder time blending in than me. Her stark white hair was hard to hide.
Mine wasn't, as mine is black.
She tried to dye it. But still people would ask.
"Is it real!"
"Why are your roots growing white?"
All through elementary school she got into fights as people began to bully her.
They came to me talking about how much I probably hated my sister.
I never responded to them. I walked away.
By eight grade I remember Eonai starting to resent me. She hated that she had to go through it all by herself. She hated that I never helped her.
She hated that I would see it happening and walk away.
We used to be so close.
But its all my fault that I faded away from here.
People tried to befriend me.
People didn't mind that I was her sister. I looked normal. That's all that mattered to them.
Eonai started going home early, not waiting for me. When I got home, she would smile at me with her black painted lips.
Her leather jacket would be neat.
She always set it away before a fight.
Her enemies gave her the time.
But her shirt would be dirty and ripped. Her jeans would be ripped. Her face and hands would have various cuts and scrspes. Her shoes would be battered and soiled.
And I would just smile back.
I looked at her with her in her battered clothes.
And she would look at me, dressed in white, all clean, and neat, and tidy with my glasses.
And we would smile.
Fake smile.

I sat upon my throne with all the people around me, and angel, in Heaven.
And I would smile sweetly at the people I hate as they burned, my sister clawing her way up the pile, reaching, crying, screaming, a demon, in Hell.