Rise and Fall
At last the blood has gone. I’ve scrubbed myself raw to get rid of the last remnants of you off my skin. I slather on copious amounts of body lotion, breathe in the heady perfume. I’ve always thought it would happen. One of us would fall and the other rise. But just not like this.
I’ve always envied you. You wearing the latest fashions, coming first in every exam, in every race. My father looking at you in the way he shouldn’t. He’d always look around to see if anyone had clocked him. I always did. It wasn’t your fault that I was a bit slow, a bit plain and to be fair you were always nice to me, letting me wear your clothes in secret.
When you moved in next door, just the two of you, I used to think that maybe we could be friends one day. Go out arm in arm laughing and joking together like friends do. But no my father saw to that with his looks and innuendoes. His decision to marry your mother put paid to that, his bad judgements always ruined things.
My shins hurt where you kicked me. My arms hurting, where you tried to restrain me. The bruises are beginning to show. When I call the police they are going to take photos of my bloodshot eye and my bleeding nose and all the marks you inflicted on me.
They are going to ask me lots of probing questions. I’ve rehearsed my answers over and over again. I have to convince them. The body, lifeless in the corner, the bread knife sticking out at an odd angle. What will I tell you Step sister? How will I explain about your mother’s cruelty?