Sincerely, The Stranger You Call Sister

Year 1: The Royal Fuck Up

"Hello" -Normal speech.

"Hello" -Parseltongue.

'Hello' -Thoughts/Silent telepathic twin-speech.

Hello -Writing.

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Dear Little Brother,

Have you ever fucked up so badly, so royally...Well, that it's simply indescribable?

I have.

You're probably thinking about the Rebecca Incident, aren't you? Fair enough -cause, I mean, breaking and entering the school and almost getting caught is pretty damn high on the Fucked Up list, especially for anyone as young as I was. But no. Perhaps it's third in the order being the biggest mistake, but it's certainly not second nor first place.

First place changes depending on how selfish and bitter I'm feeling that particular day. I'll be the first to admit that; I'm not a good person.

(I don't have a bleeding heart. Nor one made of gold. I always told people back when I was just Olivia that if I had to choose between saving myself from certain death or abso-fucking-loutely anyone else, that I would save my own skin first and foremost. Without second thought and regret. Sure, I'd probably be a bit messed up afterwards thanks to the trauma that would surely follow given that situation, but I would have the rest of my life to talk it out with a therapist.

I can't be as sure of that same conviction anymore, given that I have some (or more than I did) idea of death and the so called 'afterlife,' but I think I'd still sacrifice another if it meant I could see another day. Yes, I'm a terribly selfish bitch, already on my second life and still clinging to more. But I've long ago made peace with that fact as Olivia, and I have again as Dorothy.

As Olivia; at times I've pretended that I didn't see the boys in my school getting a little too rough in the hallways or playground. There were times that people in need, hungry and homeless people, who were only a few feet away but not once did I dare to look at them directly. I had pulled my money or food closer and passed them by without so much as a glance, because even though I knew that I had some to spare, and that it would mean a lot more to them than to me, I simply didn't want to. Didn't care enough. It was that same part of me that dreaded adulthood, because then extended family would expect me to buy them presents as well. I was begrudging enough buying some out of my own money when I was sixteen and older for my two siblings.

That's my Deadly Sin: Greed. But I digress.)

Ironically enough, it was during one of my charitable moments that led to my other Biggest Mistake, rivalled only to the numerous years of tanning without fucking protection. And I wasn't even the one who ended up paying the price for it, either.

I've come to learn there are three different kinds of Fuck Ups. The first one, the one that I experienced thanks to the Rebecca Incident, is the kind that leaves you paralyzed. Rooted to the ground, frozen stiff, because of the overwhelming fear. It sends blood rushing to your ears and causes your heart to log itself in your throat, allowing only whimpers and intelligible mumbling through. And when people start pushing, pushing for answers and yelling reprimands, big fat tears will suddenly swell up and roll down your cheeks (whether you want them to or not) and all you're able to do is either cry and plead for forgiveness or duck your head and silently take the abuse.

The second kind, the type that comes when you're a fucking idiot and give yourself skin cancer because you were a vain bitch, is the one that fills you to the brim with anger. First, your mind blanks because of the shock. It sends you flying, reeling, and grappling with the desperate denial of "this can't be real." You cling to those weak threads of denial with white knuckles, but when those threads eventually wither and sever away, you end up crashing with your world in tiny, bloody pieces at your feet and are left with nothing but your anger.