My Writing

Day 8: Shaking Up The Family Tree

Tell your life story from someone else’s point of view

13th July 1989. The day I met her. She was carried into the house as if she was as fragile as a china vase. I was excited to meet her. Nobody had done anything except talk about her for the last few months so it was about time she turned up. Mam sat down, cradling her, and Dad pushed me forward. I hated to admit it but I was a bit nervous. What if she didn’t like me? What if I didn’t like her? Was there a returns policy for these things?

I looked at her and she looked back at me. We held eye contact for a few seconds until I noticed a large drop of drool coming from her mouth. Eeew. I looked away quickly.

‘Yeah she’s cute I guess.’

‘She got you a present.’ Dad reached into a bag he had carried in and took out a box. I recognised it immediately. It was a Barbie doll, one of the ones where you can style her hair. I had wanted it for ages, I’d even circled it in the Argos catalogue. I didn’t want to show how excited I was, she didn’t need to know. I inspected the box carefully before taking it from Dad’s hands. I nodded at the baby, ‘thanks,’ and sidled over to the opposite couch to open it properly. Maybe she wouldn’t be too bad, if she was going to be getting me presents.

*          *          *

Oh how wrong I was. Why did no one tell me how much of a pain having a little sister could be? She never shut up, for one. Dad’s started calling her the Screamin’ Demon. I think he thinks it’s funny, but her howling isn’t funny at all. I’m just sitting here, trying to watch Dempsey’s Den, and all I can hear are the bellows coming from upstairs as Mam tries to get her to sleep. She hasn’t even gotten me any more Barbies.

*          *          *

Well this is just the last straw. I’ve let her away with a lot of stuff over the past few years but this is something I just cannot forgive. Not only has she given up buying me Barbies, she’s ruining the ones I already have. I had a beautiful Belle doll, from Beauty and the Beast, I loved playing with it every day. She was in the sparkling golden gown from the film and her hair was in a beautiful up-do. She was my prized-possession, as they say. But the other day I walked into my room and noticed her on my bed. I hadn’t left her there, how odd. As I got closer I realised that something was wrong, she looked different. Wait a minute…she didn’t have a head. She had been decapitated. Her beautiful brown hair and pretty face had been maliciously removed. I knew who the culprit was, I didn’t even need to think about it. I did the only thing I could think to do. I screamed. Mam came rushing up the stairs. I was sobbing at this point. How could she do this to Belle? Mam tried to calm me down but it was pointless. I wanted justice.

She denied it all at first, as little sisters always do. But we made her crack. She cried, of course, crocodile tears. Thankfully Mam saw right through them and grounded her for the rest of the day, Not long enough if you ask me.

*          *          *

She got better as she grew up, we started getting along better. We even had the clubhouse in the back garden with Aimee and all the posters of Boyzone and Take That on the walls. We spent most of our time coming up with dance routines for songs by The Backstreet Boys and The Spice Girls, it was arduous work. She decided to leave the club a few years after we started, the ACR became the ACA. We had to repaint the sign on the door, what a pain. But we persevered on without her. The dance routines didn’t always work with two people, however, and we soon felt like maybe we had grown out of the clubhouse.

When she started her goth/emo phase she wasn’t really in the house much so I didn’t have to deal with her, which was alright. She even convinced me to read Harry Potter, which I had been putting off mainly because things like that aren’t normally worth the hype and I didn’t want to be disappointed. But she was right, it was definitely worth the hype. I suppose I owe her the credit for that.

She’s not too bad now that she lives in a different country. Not living with her makes her a lot more likable. It was odd when she left first. The house was a lot quieter. No more ridiculous emo music blasting from her room or stupid television shows on all day when she’s not in work. I guess I miss her a little. But she reminds me that she’s still around every day when she posts crap on my Facebook. Seriously, nearly every day she’s got another link on my wall; Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, random Buzzfeed articles. I guess little sisters never stop annoying you.

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