I am the Monster

I killed my sister.

It's funny, isn't it? How everyone expects me to feel bad about it. How they all think I'm supposed to be grieving, like some kind of victim. But I'm not. In fact, I feel... lighter. Relieved. It was the easiest thing I've ever done.

People don't get it. They don't understand what it was like, living in her shadow. She was always better, always more-more loved, more noticed, more everything. And I? I was the invisible one. The afterthought. The quiet one.

But I fixed that. I took it all away.

It's been eight months since the funeral. Eight months of pretending. Pretending to care, pretending to mourn, pretending to be normal. Everyone's still talking about it like it's this huge mystery. Like the police are going to find the "real killer," even though they never will. They have no idea. The police? The neighbors? They don't know. They think I'm just like them. But I'm not. I'm not like anyone.

I've got a new job now. Something simple. Nothing fancy. But it's mine. The first real job I've ever had. And for once, I feel like I'm in control. Like the world is finally mine to take.

My mother's a wreck. She hasn't showered in weeks. But she doesn't matter. She doesn't know. She doesn't see me. Not really. And my father? He left. Moved across the country like that was going to fix everything. But none of that matters to me.

What matters is that I'm here. I'm still standing.
And they'll never know the truth.
I've already won.