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Moths and Butterflies

by MysteryMe

Dear Agnes,

I’m embarrassed, I really am. I know this isn’t something I should be putting in a letter—and I know that nobody really writes letters anymore, anyway— but I just don’t know what else to do. God only knows that I don’t have the courage to actually confront you about it. I shouldn’t even be doing this… but I guess I have to. It’s my responsibility as your older sister. I’ve never wished more than right at this moment to be an only child.

Ok, I’ll admit it. I’m not trying to hide anything here. You know I wouldn’t do that.

According to the average “high school standards” it’s pretty obvious that you’d be considered… well, prettier than me. And yes, I know how that must make you feel. You’re all tingly inside, aren’t you. Proud of something that has absolutely no real connection to who you are as a person. It has less than nothing to do with your smarts, with your happiness, with your skill, or your talent, or your worth. And yet, hearing it makes you shine. You’re pretty, I won’t deny it. Somehow, in the great big gambling game of DNA, you drew a better card than me. And I’ll admit, sometimes it bugs me. I’m done with the denial. I’ve been jealous of you before. Really jealous. But I’m over it. I’ve learned. I’ve learned a lot.

You know, there’s nothing wrong with being pretty. Nothing wrong at all. You’re easy on the eyes. I don’t hate you for that, but I don’t love you for it, either. The way you smile, with your teeth all shiny and beautiful and perfect, it makes a lot of people admire you, it really does. And I guess you have every right to be a little proud of that. It’s your body, after all. Everybody deserves to take pride in something so mysterious, something so strange, something so magnificently alive. So I don’t blame you for that. I never did. At least that’s what I tell myself.

But there’s something else. Something I’m surprised nobody has told you already. I guess I understand why it’s taken you so long to understand it yourself. You’ve grown up in a world where everything is perfect. The Earth bends to your every whim. People do whatever they possibly can to make you happy. It’s perfectly understandable for you to be a little bit spoiled. A little bit stuck up. A little bit mean. But things have been getting out of control, lately. A lot of things. And it’s time for me to tell you to stop. Because it’s recently come to my attention that nobody else has even the slightest inclination to do it. Sure, the girls may whisper behind your back about how much of a whore you are, some of them your best friends, but every time you turn to them all they ever do is smile and wave and giggle at every little thing you say. It took me long enough, but now I understand that as much as they say they want you to change, not a single soul is really willing to do it. But I’m your sister. I know you, and as much as you screech and cry and tell me you hate me, I’ve learned that I just can’t change that. I need to look out for you. And this is where I’ll start.

I really don’t know how to say this. But I have to. So I’ll just spit it out.

You’re a complete bitch.

Look, I know how crazy that must sound to you. How unbelievable. And I can’t blame you for that. You’ve been told you’re an angel for your entire life, and old beliefs die hard. I know that from experience. And I have a lot of that, let me mind you. Two years more than you have. And considering how much more thinking I’ve been doing for all my years, I’d say that I have a little thing I need to share with you. One secret. Ten secrets. A hundred secrets. A thousand. A million.

But let’s just start with one.

You’re no god, Agnes. You’re no angel. Let me just start with that and go from there. Sure, you may look like one. Sure, your skin may glow like one. Sure, your teeth may flash like one. Sure, your eyes may shine like one. Sure, you’re undeniably and inconceivably beautiful. Everything they say about you is true. But I know something that they don’t. While they remark over how soft your hands are, I notice the things that they’re doing. While they giggle about how plush your lips are, I listen to the things they’re saying. And just a sisterly word of advice, Agnes, maybe you should pay a little closer attention. Because I don’t like what I see, and if you saw yourself the way that I see you, I don’t think you would either.

Can you honestly say that you’re proud of the way you treat people? Like inferiors. Like a pack of wild dogs fighting over a piece of meat, which just so happens to be yourself. Are you really proud of the way you act? As if your beauty somehow makes you superior? Let me tell you something, dear sister. You are no god. You are no angel. In fact, when you look at yourself in the mirror tonight—and I know you will, you always do—I dare you to look a little deeper. Maybe then you’ll see that, really, you’re just a devil in disguise.

Okay, now that that’s all taken care of, I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry. Please don’t take this too personally. You know I love you, you know I always will. But these words are coming from the heart and soul of a sixteen-year-old girl whose spent the last fourteen years of her life in the shadow of her younger sister. And as you can imagine, there’s a lot of pent up anger that I needed to just release. Just let go of. And I spewed it all on this thin little strip of paper like some projectile vomit, acidic and bitter in my mouth. God, I’m sorry. Forgive me sister, for you are not the only one who has sinned. I’ve been jealous, and I can’t deny that anymore.

Please, for only a moment, just try to imagine how it feels to be me. Feel a little empathy, for god sakes. I need that from you. For once in your life, please pull through.

Just imagine. A little girl, barely eight years old, is wearing a little red dress. Unlike her sister’s pure, golden locks, the girl’s hair is a muddy brown. Dark at the roots and dripping down like the murky waters of a sod-written creek. The little blond girl beside her wears a pretty red dress that matches her own, but for some unknown reason, she’s getting far more compliments. And before you get mixed up—I know you’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer—the brunette was me, and the blond was you.

“Oh, you look so darn adorable in that!” I heard a stranger saying, leaning down towards you as you beamed at him with your perfect, rounded teeth. I remember gripping on to mommy’s hand, waiting for my turn to be praised, but it never came. And our dear little mother didn’t even notice.

“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed happily, “I know what you mean, isn’t she just the cutest thing? She’s my little angel. Look at that perfect little nose!”

I just stood there awkwardly, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the large, bumpy nose that I inherited from dad. I took my hand, which was red and raw from climbing on the monkey bars all day, and rubbed it almost instinctively over the bridge, feeling how stiff and long it was. Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, I felt ugly. Have you ever felt ugly, Agnes? I didn’t think so.

And then fast forward a few years. I was thirteen then. My hair was still muddy and brown. My nose was still big and bumpy. But I’d learned to live with that. At least that was what I told myself.

I was talking to my best friend at the time. A skinny redhead with green eyes and freckles scattered across her face. You know the girl, don’t you? Her name was Lacy.

“Are you ready to go to the mall?” I asked with a tingling of excitement in my voice, showing her my braces in a large, open-mouthed beam, “I’ve saved up my babysitting money for a month! I’m so ready for this!”

Instead of jumping up and down and babbling with excitement, as I had suspected she might, Lacy only gave me a very guilty little grin.

“Erm, sorry Melanie,” she said to me awkwardly, “I can’t come anymore, I’m busy.”

My eyes went wide with surprise. “Why not?” I asked with concern, “What happened?”

“I… um… have to babysit my little brother today. Sorry,” she said after a moment of hesitation, “Maybe next time.”

I can specifically remember nodding, my head feeling as though it weighted a thousand pounds as I tried to hide the wave of disappointment beginning to wash across my face. “That’s okay,” I said, “Next time. Definitely next time.”

That afternoon, while I was wondering through the mall feeling alone and abandoned, I saw Lacy. She was in a group of popular girls, laughing and giggling as though she was having the time of her life. And guess who was the head of that little group? That’s right, you.

I couldn’t wrap my head around why Lacy would betray me like that. I just stood there, speechless, unable to move. And the group of girls walked past me as though I didn’t even exist. Except, of course, for the queen bee. I caught your eye just as you were entering Abercrombie and Finch with your friends, looking like a blond princesses in all that pink. And then, almost as if you knew everything that had just happened, you grinned at me. An evil, teasing grin. A grin that said that this was a game, and there was a winner and a loser. And little ol’ me was most definitely not the winner. Maybe that grin might just have been to gloat about how many more friends you had with you that day, but it sure did feel as though you knew exactly what had happened to me. And that made it hurt even more. I went home that night and sobbed into my pillow. Not even dad came to comfort me. ‘Girl problems,’ he said, and then he went back to reading his newspaper. And I guess, in a way, he was right.

Now, let’s skip to the present. And, if I were rating this all—which I’m not, don’t worry—I would have to say it was the worst.

I was sitting at home last Friday night, as I always do, chugging down a bowl of ice cream and watching some stupid dance show on TV. Sometime during a commercial about some acne fighting cream—which does not work, by the way—my shirt slipped up slightly, revealing a soft, pudgy belly. It wasn’t an attractive sight, but I guess nothing about me really is anymore.

Just then, my phone started buzzing like crazy and I realized that someone was calling me. I expected it to be Jessica, the freshman with the lisp whose been hanging around with me lately, but it wasn’t. It was a lot, lot more.

“Uh… hello?” a deep, masculine voice said, his nervousness apparent.

“Hello?” I responded, “Who is this?”

“It’s Michael. This is Melanie, right?”

I think my heart literally stopped at that moment. Michael was, and is, the absolute cutest boy in my AP trigonometry class, and I’d had a major crush on him for the short span of a century.

“Yeah… this is Melanie. What do you need, Michael?”

I heard him stutter in response, and I’m sure it made me blush deep red. I’d never had a boy stutter for me before.

“Well, I’ve noticed you around lately, and I’ve just been wondering… are you free this Saturday night? Maybe we could… get some coffee or something? At Starbucks, around 8:00?”

I seriously couldn’t speak, my mouth was numb. But I forced myself to. I needed to answer.

“Of course, I’d love to.”

And it was true. I really would. Even if I didn’t really like coffee.

The next night, as you know, I was all spiffed up and ready. You were the one who sent me off, not even trying to hide your surprise, and I still remember that snarl on your face and the smirk on mine, to think that I had finally beaten you. I’d spent an hour getting ready—the longest it’s ever taken me. Soon, I was sitting at a little round table in Starbucks, sucking down my third hot chocolate of the night. It was 8:15 now, and still the boy was a no-show. I’d been here since 7:30, and my bladder was beginning to feel like a leaky pipe.

Finally, after far too long, the boy walked in. He was wearing a jacket with a pair of nice, black loafers and his hair was done in a way that made my cheeks flush. I waited for him to come over, but for some reason he just stood there. Looking around. Almost as if he were lost or confused. A little concerned, I called him over.

“Michael!” I said, waving to him, “I’m over here! Sit down!” I smiled broadly, and he gave me a look like I was freaking crazy. Like he didn’t even know what the hell was going on.

“Erm... hi. Who are you?” he asked as he strutted over, confused as ever. I was pretty sure he was joking. He had to be.

“It’s Melanie!” I told him with a bright smile, “Come on, sit down.” Michael just looked at me like an idiot. I was beginning to feel sweaty. I wished that I’d have worn more deodorant.

“But…” he began, stuttering again, “You’re not Melanie. You’re Agnes, right? Her sister or something?”

I shook my head, and my stomach all the sudden started to feel hot and queasy.

“I think you’re mistaken,” I said as sweetly as I could, pushing back the tears that suddenly and inexplicably began to well up in my eyes, “I’m Melanie. My sister is Agnes.”

The boy just stood there. Not for long though. In a few seconds, he burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked between his hoots, “I’m sorry. I must have mixed up the names. It’s just that… she seems so much more like a Melanie. And you seem so much more like an Agnes. You know? Haha, nevermind.”

Of course I didn’t know what to say, so I stood silent, dying on the inside as I watched him laugh. I knew exactly what he meant, though. I’ve always found it quite ironic how the pretty one ended up with a name so bland and blunt like Agnes, while the ‘other’ one got called such a delicate little thing like Melanie. Even my name seems to mock me.

Finally, Michael calmed down enough to speak properly, rubbing the tears of laughter from his beautiful, blue eyes.

“Hehe, sorry Agnes. No hard feelings, right? Just a little mix up. I’m gonna head on home if that’s alright. Tell your sis about me.” And before I could even think about anything to do or say, he was just gone. Just gone. And that was it. I haven’t seen him since.

Look, Agnes. I don’t blame you for any of this. In fact, this really has nothing at all to do with what I’m telling you today… but I just needed to say it. You have to understand. I know this letter may hurt your fragile self esteem, but just remember. No matter what I say, no matter what I feel, you need to focus on the positive. At least you’re pretty. At least you’re not me.

Because, and let's face it here, you're a pretty little butterfly, and I'm just a moth. You flutter and dance in the air, full of color and joy and beauty. And below you I lurk in the shadows. Colorless and ugly and bland. Attracted to the light, the only thing I cannot have. I'm pathetic, I know this, I really do. But at least I know enough to understand that there are things more important than beauty. Things more important than what meets the eye. And maybe I'll always be too ashamed to really embrace myself for who I am, even if I know this. Maybe I'm unfixable. But the one thing I know is that you're not. I can fix you, I know I can. I can show you the other side. The side that's been invisible to you your entire life, always just beyond the reach of your vision. I may just be a little moth, Agnes, but I can enlighten you, the way that you've always lightened me. Because, and as much as I hate to admit it, I love you, my sister. You remind me that the world is beautiful. That even among a group of ugly ducklings, there may emerge a swan. Even in a world full of moths, there may emerge a butterfly. You bring light to those who live in darkness. But please, don't abuse that power. I'm not sure I can take it anymore.

Just… be nicer to people, okay? That’s all I’ve really been trying to say. Play nice, Agnes, and you should be fine. You should be fine.

I’m not so sure about me, though.


Your big sissy,


P.S. I'm sorry. I really am.




Dear Melanie,

"I'm sorry." Out all the things I've read tonight--and I've read every single word you've written, trust me--those two words would have to be the most shocking. The most atrocious. The most unbelievable. Those two words have made me angrier than all you're other words combined. And you know why, Melanie? Because you are sorry, you really mean that with all you're heart. And you shouldn't. You claim that you're smarter than me, but when it comes to yourself, you really have no clue, do you? Look, Mel. If there was one thing I'd want to say to you after that little rant of yours, it's this.

You've got it all mixed up. When it comes to our relationship. You're the butterfly, and I'm the moth. Not the other way around.

I... really don't know what to say. I guess I understand how awkward you must have felt writing this. It's just weird, I guess. I've never written a letter before. But I figured I probably should. You don't understand how much yours meant to me. I'm going to keep it forever, as a reminder, and I want this to be one for you.

You're beautiful, Melanie. Let me just make that clear. Look, I'll be honest, I know you're not that skinny. Your skin isn't that clear. Your hair isn't that sleek. Your teeth aren't that white. But you're beautiful, you really are. Please trust me on that.

Your smile. Your smile has always made me jealous. I know you may not believe this, but it's true. Sure, my teeth may be shiny and white, and I've never needed braces, but next to yours, my smile sucks. Because yours is real. You may not know this, but its goddamn angelic. When you show it, it lights up your entire face. It's kindness and modesty and bravery all wrapped up in one perfect package. I'm not sure how, but it is. If only you'd stop worrying about being pretty, and just stopped and smiled ever one in a while, I know everybody else would have realized this, too.

The point is... Mel, you're a butterfly. I know you may not feel like one, but you are. And me? Well, let me just say that the colors you see, the beautiful pastels that glisten off my wings, it's all just paint. Sure, it looks real, but all you gotta do is add a little water to see what lies beneath. And just like you told me, just like you made me realize, what's underneath is not pretty. Not pretty at all.

And your wings? They're just covered in dirt, that's all. The dirt of your own jealousy, your own broken self esteem. If you just cleaned yourself up a little, showed a little confidence once in your life, I have no doubt that underneath all that brown and gray is something beautiful. Something magnificent. Something precious.

Thank you, Melanie. Thank you so much. You've really changed everything for me. You don't know how much of me you've saved. And you don't know how much I'm dying to return the favor.


Your little sissy,


P.S. If you ever feel the need, come to my room and maybe I could help you polish up those wings a little ;). I love you, too.

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120 Reviews

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Reviews: 120

Sat May 24, 2014 12:27 pm
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Brunnera wrote a review...

Nifoi here, reading your short story after a week-long exam! I decided to have a good read and visited your short story portfolio.
I adored this-- Melanie's jealousy so well-written and explained, Agnes's beauty portrayed perfectly in your words. They were all just magnificent. The starting of the story-- strong, conveying a message of envy, love, hesitation and bravery all mixed up together-- it was a great start. Getting deeper in, the events which happened to Melanie explained, it all gives the reader a sense of empathy. Anybody who reads this could relate to her-- not feeling loved or appreciated.
Agnes's part of the letter was breathtaking, believe it or not xD At first I thought she was going to release all of her rage in the letter, but it was completely the other way around. She was modest, concerned, caring-- everything a little sister should be. I just loved everything, the three little words 'I love you' took my breath away. The sisterly love and bond strongly connects the reader to the story.
By the way, I love how you related Melanie and Agnes to the moths and butterflies. That was really professional.
In conclusion, your story conveys a hidden meaning to me. We shouldn't be self-conscious of ourselves. We are all beautiful in a way. Nobody is ugly. I just loved the morals ^_^ Oh and the sibling relationship. Heartwarming! :D
Anyway, I made a good choice to come to your short story section~~ your stories are always awesome :3


MysteryMe says...

Oh, thank you so much! ^_^

The topic I was really a very important one to me (in terms of looking past outside beauty) and it means a lot that you liked what I did with it!

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92 Reviews

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Sun Nov 17, 2013 7:50 pm
InfiniteSnowfall wrote a review...

You're just an amazing writer. I adore your short stories. I really liked how it was written in letter form. I also love your description and pretty much everything.

For me, I feel like the story could have ended right after Melanie's letter. I felt like Agnes was portrayed as this selfish, mean bitch, but that didn't show through in her letter. I mean, I know her sister just poured her heart out to her, but I don't think Agnes as a person would change that quickly. But, it is a letter and it's a lot easier to mask what you would really say in writing.

Anyway, nice story, again! I like how most of the time, there's some time up really well-developed moral to the story. I'm excited to read your next piece!

Yours till the Chocolate Chips,

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146 Reviews

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Reviews: 146

Sat Nov 09, 2013 10:15 pm
MooCowPoop says...

Agh! I wish I could finish reading this but I can't since I'm at the library. I want to say that this was a really good story/letter!

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Reviews: 21

Thu Nov 07, 2013 4:11 am
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Maximilia wrote a review...

Dear MysteryMe,

So. It really is odd writing a letter -- awkward even. But I find the most difficulty with the typical anxiety of reviewing and finding the proper angle of reflection.

Maybe I should start with this: Moths and Butterflies hits hard. And my anxiety in writing this to you might have been more intimidating had I not realized how introspective this piece is, really. The questions it raises.
Introspective, in the sense that for the most part, it really feels as if Melanie is talking to herself. Raises questions, for example, as to your choice in format; the solitude of and intensely personal nature within a letter, no matter the, that had to have been on purpose right??

Not that I'd figured her sister wasn't real. Just that it seemed like one of those types of letters you write in anger and deliberately don't send. As if in exploring beneath the superficiality and negligence of her sister and everyone else, it was self-revelatory. And yet what she finds in that isn't so explicit as what she asserts about her sister -- WHICH I LOVE (along with pleasant but slightly frightening surprise -- at first -- of Agnes' reply).

But then...even after reading Agnes' part, they seemed like two halves of the same whole...simply...reflecting on ITSELF (which, if you think about it, is what every relationship proves to be; a series of reflections against one another, but let's not get into metaphysics...).
So, I'm proud of you, bro. You've really done something here (although, I feel Agnes' was kinda rushed. I would have loved it longer...).

It's an honest piece. It's inquisitive (since it also made one consider about how it must really feel to be constantly objectified and valued only because of your face and such, even more so than what was revealed in the ending...y'know?).

I really dug this, man.



I'll be on the look out, if not scouring for more you've already posted.

MysteryMe says...

Thanks, Max. I'm really glad you enjoyed this piece. I struggled with it, slightly, and it's a relief that you think it turned out well :D

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Thu Nov 07, 2013 2:57 am
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D4RKR4VEN wrote a review...

Dear MysteryMe,

Thank you ever so much for mailing me these letters for which I have been asking for. For the sake of convenience, you may address me as The Raven, and I am a Knight of the Green Room. I have gone through these interesting letters and I shall provide the review for them of which you have been asking for. Without further delay, I shall get to it then:

These are some very fine letters, something anyone would be hard-pressed to find these days, in an age of electronics and phones that could send messages instantly with a push of the button. At first, I found it hard to believe that anyone in this day and age, assuming that these letters are written only recently, could write such fine letters without difficulty, retaining not all the skills of the practice but most of it intact. However, as I thought about it, it is believable in the end, as the subject of the letters are of a rather fiery, passionate nature that has been boiling over for years upon years. My complements to Melanie, and even Agnes.

Now, on the issue of Melanie, I feel that a huge part of her was missing. While her redeeming qualities can be glimpsed off the letters of her handwriting, I feel that she has deprecated herself far too much. In her hatred of her younger sister's way, I believe she should have been a bit more competitive. As the saying goes, Melanie should have laid her cards down, all of it, the entire hand. She should have shown Agnes everything she is worth. Is she a capable scholar? A powerful athlete? Practicing pugilism? Is she well-read in philosophy? In the arts? In the sciences? I know that personality is entirely important, but the fact of the matter is that that has already been shown, and the others not so much.

This being down on paper, I believe Melanie, in writing about herself this way, has unwittingly placed herself within the category of a stereotypical struggling protagonist in a 'Mean Girl' scenario where she is quite literally good for nothing and good at nothing, and this is not advantageous in the slightest. It seems predictable, and thus not believable, and I predict that it was difficult for Melanie to make her case that way. I'm thoroughly surprised that Agnes has decided to cooperate.

More on the 'Mean Girl' scenario. I feel that the cases Melanie has chosen to highlight in her letter borders on the typical, and it does not help in her argument. It would have been far more advantage if she cited some of the more extreme happenings - either that, or some of the more personal ones that illustrate the dysfunctional relationship between her and Agnes. As a matter of fact, there is nothing stopping Melanie from including all three categories of cases. The more aces, after all, the better the argument. Just as much, Melanie should have related her thoughts and emotions to the very core, the very deepest layer. While she has already done that to an extent, I feel that there is room for more, to get her point across.

Furthermore, before I digress any further, I am startled at Melanie's dishonesty. She writes about herself as if she is flawless, faultless save for her perceived ugliness. In popular culture, this is known as the Mary Sue. While I did write in an earlier part of this return letter that Melanie should reveal the other better parts of herself, this does not mean the exclusion of her own faults and flaws. Allow me to explain. In excluding any mention of her own faults, flaws, mistakes and other similar traits, it reveals another better part of herself: honesty, character, at least character that cannot be shown in other ways. Therefore, in avoiding mention of all that, she risks being seen as a cunning, conniving scoundrel. This is a known problem even in written literature. The Mary Sue is older than what most suspected. Try reading Pamela, and the parody of that book, Shamela, as I've done so recently and it illustrates my point very well.

As for Agnes' letter, I predicted her reaction as much, even if Melanie could have done better in convincing her. It would have been just as believable should Agnes have chosen to cast her elder sister aside. However, I shan't go too deep into that, for either way, the developments would have been interesting, pardon my insensitivity to the emotional nature of the situation as described in the letters. The fact that Agnes has chosen to change things means that she has avoided becoming the 'Mean Girl' or the 'Queen Bee' stereotype. Interesting development. Another interesting thing is that in having harmed her own elder sister without noticing or even trying to mitigate the collateral damage of her beauty, Agnes is far from a Mary Sue. Reality asserts itself as usual.

All in all, thank you for confiding in me regarding Melanie and Agnes. I enjoy receiving letters from you, and despite the reality of the situation, I did find the trouble between Melanie and Agnes interesting to read. Not to mention, it is all the endearing and heartwarming that they have 'lived happily ever after' as the fond line goes. I shall be expecting your reply soon. I hope I've helped you one way or another.

With regards,
Knight of the Green Room
The Raven

P.S: Send my regards to Melanie and Agnes! Perhaps it might not be inconceivable that I might visit them, after I return from my next war against the menaces of the Green Room.

MysteryMe says...

Thank you! I really needed a good constructive review for this piece, and this is honestly very helpful. I'll definitely take a look at your suggestions :)

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Tue Nov 05, 2013 12:52 am
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EloquentDragon wrote a review...

Well, let me just say that I can't find anything to say about this.

It was wonderful.

Wonderully, gut-wrenchingly realistic.

I haven't really thought that much about how image effects sibling rivalry--- especially among sisters. Now I have. There are only a few things I need to point out:

I was thirteen years old now.

Watch the tenses in the "flashback" sections. "I was thirteen then," it should be.

Try to only use the "angel from heaven" trope once--- its a rather strong allegory. (Since it's so well-known)

Try to use italics, not all-caps, for emphasis.

Try to stay in voice. A couple of times, she slips from "average teen" to "19th century author." It happens only a few times though. I can't recall exactly where.
At the end, with the reversal, try to clarify it a bit, maybe. I had to read it a couple of times to get what you meant, and I still don't know if I understand what you meant, but I do know that it was a reversal of the epic kind. ;)

Keep writing, this was great. (Is it for a contest or something? You should consider putting it in one if not.) If you polish this up some more, you should even consider submitting it to a publisher somewhere. (But that could just be my opinion)


P.s., I love your title.

MysteryMe says...

Thank you so much! This honestly helps a lot, and I'm so happy that you liked it :D. I was a little unsure about this at first, since when I write in first person point of view I tend to switch back to my normal voice without realizing it (like you pointed out), but I'm honestly so happy that you thought it was realistic. Thanks!

No, Jack, don't. Jeez.
— David Letterman