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Sister Rachel MAG
The walls crack as the door slams behind her.
She always shuts doors so hard.
Her black shoes, black skirt, black hoodie, black glasses, and black hair.
A shadow in the shape of my sister.
Her bags smash to the floor.
The dog gallops to her side.
She flips her hair from her eyes.
She dyed it again, darker this time.
My mother will hate it.
My mother is always so happy to see her daughter again.
As we sit for the dinner my mother has been slaving over all afternoon, my father prays while my sister makes funny faces at me, the same way she has since we were very small.
She tells her stories about work and life.
I can smell the coffee and city streets on her clothes.
She is always so happy to be with all of us.
She seems happy whenever I see her.
Why does she wear all of these black clothes?
She tells us of all the new and exciting developments in her life.
Her new apartment.
Her new classes.
Her new job.
I try to learn all I can from her.
She behaves like a millionaire.
She does what she wants, when she wants.
I learn how she does this with jealous eyes.
I want to be more like her.