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Everything. She gets everything she wanted. I bite my forefinger until the bone threatened to snap between my teeth. I let it go and examine the deep teeth marks. Next to me, my sister whines about her non-existent puppy. I want to kill her. My father tries to reason with her. I hate when he looks like this, like a bum. Ever since he lost his job all of our lives have been going downhill. Eat out: never. Family ski trip: not going to happen. Presents for birthdays: don't make me laugh. My mother sighs in a sort of tired exasperation. I want to scream, but instead I stick my finger in my mouth again. I want out of this house.
'If I get a puppy, I want a collie or husky,' my sister says, refusing to drop the dog subject. I imagine what color her face would turn if I wrapped my fingers around her throat and squeezed. I push the image from my head and take another bite of pasta. I'm sick of this. I want money. I want steak and snow-tubing and pea coats.
My sister continues to complain, at me this time. I snap at her and she acts innocent. Muddy purple and red, I decide. I tug at my short hair. The ends are split and I'm guessing no haircut soon. Not in this lifetime, unless some magical nude cherub descends from the heavens and hands my father a paycheck. That'd be the day. I take another bite, then take my plate to the sink and scrub it viciously.
'Whose day for the dishes?' my mother asks. My sister and I quibble for a minute and it is decided that it is her. I hide a victorious sneer and go into the office a floor up. I bring up my novel document on Microsoft, but no inspiration comes to mind. I shut it and check my e-mail. No new blurbs, not even a forward. My mind wanders to earlier that evening.
'Wanna hang out?' the chirpy voice of my literary friend squeaks over the phone. I nod, but she can't see me. 'Sure, let me ask my mom,' I smile.
Mom's answer is no. 'You have to watch your sister tonight. Your father and I are going out to see a play.'
I accept my unfortunate fate. 'Sorry, can't,' I tell my excitable literary friend, and hang up the phone before she can respond.
'You could have made other plans,' my mother says. She thinks I'm anti-social, but there's a good reason for that. None of my friends call me or invite me places, and I'm sick and tired of being the one to start it.
'I don't like plans,' I quip. 'And I don't care for talking on the phone either.'
'Why didn't you talk to your friend, don't you like her?'
No! I wanted to scream. I hate you all! But I just shrug.
I bang out some random spiel onto a forum and then delete it. It was pointless anyway. My cat climbs onto the spare bed next to me. He's too fat, I muse. Wow, deep thoughts. I consider throwing something out a window, but don't. Downstairs I hear my sister moaning as she washes dishes. My parents have left and I'm alone. I bury my face in the covers of the bed and scream.