My short sister works hard. My big brother shows carelessness. Yet, I’m not tall, nor small; not as hardworking as my sister, but not as careless as my brother. I’m like sitting in the air conditioning on a hot humid day.

My sister, short and hardworking, shuffles around with her short legs, as short as a shrub stump. I listen to the sound waves of her voice with my ears, never putting an eye on her. Five foot five inches, I roll my shoulders back from the aching that comes from looking at her. She aches too, with how much studying for school she does.

My brother, big and careless, lazy and lethargic, moves his fingers as fast as a herd of cows when they get the dinner call, a scream of terrified children in a haunted house when he loses his game. His life consists of Xbox controllers, not pencils and pens. Not studying hard, not hard working. But his big boned, long legs stroll on like a giraffe showing off in the zoo.