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Not a Spitting Image
I walk by her everyday. I mean, it's not like I have a choice. We're sisters; we share the same DNA. But, as I look at her, all my inadequacies are thrown back into my face. Her luscious blond hair tumbles down her back like a waterfall, and she sneers at my stringy brunette mess as I pass, tugging on it hard. Whimpering, I clutch the strand she touched for dear life, but I don't retaliate. Why should I? She's perfect, and I'm below average.
"What's that under your chin? Are you getting fatter? Pig; it's all the food you eat. You shouldn't stuff your face so much."
"Oh my gosh, is that a zit on your forehead?! I swear, your skin is so greasy, they could use it to make french fries!"
Every morning, I try to hide from her. Just make it out of the house, and I'll be fine. But I stare down at my breakfast, thinking of her taunting me with every bite I eat, and I leave without eating.
"Good, at least you won't have those calories bogging you down today. It's not like you don't eat enough anyway, fatso."
Skipping breakfast became a morning routine, and, with her watching my every move, I cut down what I eat at lunch and dinner too.
"Ah, ah, ah," she chides me. "No snacks, either. It destroys your image. Not like you have one to destroy anyway, but it's the thought that counts."
When I'm alone, I pull up my shirt and pinch my stomach, trying to determine how much fat I had left. Sometimes, though, she would walk in on me, a snide comment on the tip of her tongue.
"Darling, with the way you're eating, you won't lose all that fat anytime soon. You need to cut more out of your diet, or you'll end up being the fattest woman in the world."
I bought a bottle of hair dye, so there would be one less thing she could tease me about. It wasn't easy doing it by myself, but I didn't want her to help me. That would just bring up her baby taunts, and she'd forgotten about those years ago.
<i>"How come you're such a baby? When are you going to grow up? You're so stupid; it's just the dark. The only thing scary in here is you, monster."
"You know you're the only girl in school who doesn't wear a real bra now, right? You're never going to fill out; you haven't even started your period yet."</i>
Those teasings stopped years ago, after I had my first period, but I could still feel her eyes on me, appraising my shape, and she didn't like what she saw.
I pass her everyday, and I feel like I'm being compared to her. I want to be her so badly. I reach my hand out to touch her, but the only thing my fingers meet is the mirror in front of me.