Saturday, May 5, 2012

Unwritten Diaries Amanda #1

I hate my older sister. She’s perfect. Smart. Funny. Pretty. Popular. Everything my parents remind me I‘m not. “Be more like your sister; she has good grades.” “Be more like your sister; look how many friends she has.” “Be more like your sister; a little make up wouldn’t hurt you.”  
And so I sit here. Box cutter as my only confidante. Just a little nick I tell it. And it always listens.
Nick. Nick. Nick. 
 It doesn’t care that I don’t wear eye liner. It doesn’t care that I try so hard to get a C. It doesn’t care that I’ll never be prom queen. I let the little dribbles of red run to the tip of my toenail. Red is my favorite color. No one will know once I put on my socks and shoes. So it’s really no big deal. Red give me strength to get through tomorrow.

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