My sister hates me. What a disturbing thought to have at the age of 7 but it is true. Ever since I was born she has loathed the very existence of me, blaming me for the death of our mother. Never treating me like a sister she said I look too much like mother and because of that I have to be punished, and by punished I mean things that no 7 year old should have to go through.
I have bright red hair just like my mother and it is for this reason that my sister has tried to everything in her power to destroy me. Cutting my hair as short as she can possibly get it, she dresses me like a boy, even going as far as to dress me like one. The clothes I wear are not pretty pink dresses suitable for a princess, no; instead I get shapeless men's tops and worn trousers. She says that I have a disgusting figure and that no person should have to suffer such visual torment. It is because of this that I am not allowed to be in the house "the towns people can have a good laugh at the sight of you, cos heaven knows I can't stand you". She parades me around the neighbourhood so everywhere I go I am reminded how ugly I am and the people of the town look at me with eyes of pity, the only thing I can do is hang my head and bear it as best as I can.
I convinced that she is jealous of me. My hair looks like mothers and in times of rage she often says that I am a replica of her, come back from the dead. When womanhood hits me and I grow breasts and curves she gives up trying to cut my hair short, attempting instead to shave and burn it off. I think she's jealous that my hair is brighter than hers, a more vibrant shade of red. I think she's jealous that my hair is in a better condition than hers, regardless of her many attempts to destroy it. I think she's jealous that Papa loves me more than her even though he's powerless to stop her hurting me, she's jealous that he pays attention to me and not her.
My days are spent doing the chores of the house while my sister lounges about in her room or spends time with Papa. She always convinces Papa that I am worthless and that the less time I spend in their presence the better and poor Papa has no other choice but to listen.
My sister is the devil incarnate, I am sure of that, she is a wretched, poor excuse for a sister. Anything that she thinks will make me pretty is not allowed. Singing is not allowed. Neither is dancing. I learnt that the hard way when I was dancing in the yard, I was pretending that I was a ballerina and I was so close to perfecting my pirouette when I felt my arm burn. She had cut me with her meat knife. I never danced again.
One day I woke up and decided enough was enough. I was sick and tired of being the town joke. Sick and tired of waking up looking like a corpse. Sick and tired of having no hair and looking like a boy. I wai for the right opportunity to present itself and when it does I am prepared. My sister comes into the kitchen and says that I am to go outside as Papa is due to come home for dinner and his appetite is sure to be ruined with me looking like a ragamuffin.
I nod and turn towards to the cabinet and prepare to give her a taste of her own punishment. I look down at the knife that I had been using to cut the chicken and decide that now is the best time to finish her off. Spinning around, I stab the knife into her chest, over and over, the smell of her blood makes me giddy and I can barely stand. I've done it! I've killed the devil who was my sister. I don't feel remorse. Instead I feel free, freedom to be the woman that I was supposed to be. Looking down I see that her long red hair has mingled with her blood, a sharp contrast to the stark white kitchen tiles. Cutting a strand off her head I bring it to my head, so this is what it feels like to have hair I smile.
My father comes home to both his daughters covered in blood, one dead the other alive. He understands my situation he soothes, he'd always known that something was wrong with my sister but tried to overlook it as he loved her. He had always feared her but didn't know how to confront her, poor Papa; he has always loved me more than her. He helps me to bury the body in the back garden and then begins the task of nurturing me into the woman he knows I can become. He brings back pretty pink clothes from work and my hair starts to grow back, now a vivid shade of red. Just like my mother's Papa says.
One night I wake up in a sweat, even though my sister is dead she still haunts me from beyond the grave. I sneak into Papa's room, I know that he will comfort me, Papa loves me.
"It's not the monster in your mind that can hurt you" Papa says as I slip into his bed, "that monster is dead remember? You took care of her. The monsters that have the power to hurt you are those that love you". Papa was now smiling at me and I relaxed, I knew that he would never hurt me.
Papa was breathing heavily now, whispering in me ear he said "and I love you very very much. I've always known you were beautiful but now, now you are exquisite." He grips my hair and forces my legs apart "guess who the real monster is sweetie? It's a good job you took care of your sister, she can't protect you now."
