Penelope
I don’t remember when did I started hating Jessica. Among all the memories I have with her, I can only recall that everything I did was to either piss her off, or to make her look stupid in front of people so they will choose me. However, sometimes, out of the blue, I can hear her young voice calling up to me.
“Sis! Do you think mommy and daddy will like this?” a 5-year-old Jessica asked with a soft smile, standing in front of me with her art apron, shirt, arms and face filled with paint while she is holding up a small canvas with our family drawn on it.
It frustrates me whenever my mind unconsciously flashes the memories that I never thought I will remember at all. It makes me feel all sorts of sensations—nostalgia, regret, sadness, guilt, and all of them makes me mad…not ju
