This pain in my heart that never subsides... This gaping maw that can never be filled... This torrent of darkness that clouds my eyes... It's all the same. It's practically routine now. In this sad bedroom of mine, where the ashen colors fade amidst the dimly lit light flickering on the ceiling, I grovel in my own depression.
Bang—
The book I threw collapsed messily on the floor.
Boom—
The bird-shaped alarm clock cluttered as it shattered open.
Thud—
The decorative figurines on my shelf slammed dully onto other belongings of mine.
Everything I could find — everything I could lay my hands on — I threw them around like a maniac in arcs across my room. Every single crack echoing through my ears from the sad broken things only made me feel worse. This miserable life of mine can't possibly get any worse — but it did.
I was furious. Mad. Annoyed. Yet, I feel a gaping emptiness in my heart, an abyss that has formed due to the lack of comfort, understanding, empathy, and any other pitiful word to help me cope with this disastrous life of mine. I sat myself down hard in a dark corner of my room which I have by now become so familiar with, scratching my head as I wail and vent out my frustrations, my hands groping on my hair so hard that I'm almost ripping it off with pure strength.
The thoughts come flooding through my head one by one, each sounding worse than the last.
Ah, so it is you. What a disappointment, really. Brother to such a successful woman, yet you two are worlds apart. Honestly, a failure is a failure. Why even try so hard? You know exactly how it will end. Everything you do just goes up in flames. How useless. Such a pity your sister is gone. She would've been even more amazing if she was still here. Look what is left of this family, a disgrace and a disgusting parasite that can't even compare to a fraction of what she was then. Rubbish.
A failure, that's what they call me. A disgraceful degenerate, they would casually throw around in their conversations. And I was so hurt by those words, but how would they know? Those swines criticizing me for who I am—no, just because I am the little brother to my successful arse of a sister, the expectations they slam onto me that I can't even hope to fulfill, how could they possibly understand what I have to go through? And when I fail and try again, they would laugh, talk me down, tell me how useless I am, how hopeless I was to even try and reach her level of skill.
I can't take it. It's not fair. All my life, I've been compared to my sister, and everyone just talks about how perfect and genius and skilled she is. And what's left of me? A useless little brother that's shoved aside and eternally shunned from the face of my own damn family. The looks on their faces every single time they glance at me—so full of disgust it's unimaginable how they can act all cheery and nice when facing other people. I could easily think of a hundred different variations of demoralizing remarks comparing me to my sister whenever I see those expressions; I'd say I've almost grown to be practically immune to those words by now.
I thought all this torture would end after she left for the other world. I thought everything would be fine now that she's gone.
I was wrong. I was so, very wrong.
Every day, they would say how it's such a shame that she had been chosen, that she couldn't stay here longer and bring more to the already-rich tab of hers. And when they talk about her, they're bound to talk about me as well. I've honestly had enough. This burning feeling inside me every time I hear those sickening words thrown right at my face has slowly burned itself out. I can't even feel the full animosity towards them anymore. Though, maybe that was for the better.
No matter how hard their efforts are of tantalizing my mind, I won't and will not ever yield to them. I'll show them, that through pure will and effort, that I can at least reach their ludicrous expectations, that I'm not the failure they all brand me to be. I'll prove that talent alone doesn't dictate everything, and, in hope, one day, I will surpass her.
The thought of finally climbing above my sister, for once being the superior one—it genuinely makes me happy. It has become my sole motivation to push on and try harder. I'll learn from my mistakes and improve from there on, backtracking and sacrificing anything that is necessary to reach my goal. And perhaps, when that day comes, I won't have to be chasing after her in her shadow anymore—a shadow that no longer exists here in this world, yet haunts my dreams and every single thought I have of her.
When I'm done with my usual anger strikes, I would look up and see that—for some unknown reason—the bedroom that I've sworn I destroyed so violently to a state of disrepair, has somehow miraculously fixed itself—the battered walls were now all perfectly smooth, my belongings which I threw across the room sat still on their shelves as if nothing had ever happened, the glass windows that have shattered from the heavy impacts are now perfectly well without a single crack—it was terrifying, yet relieving.
It never fails to fascinate me, how I can come into my room and dismantle every single piece of furniture, yet before I know it, everything is back to how it was before I came crashing into my room. Perhaps some sort of miracle or magic is at work here, or maybe I'm just imagining myself demolishing my own bedroom. This could all just be a bad nightmare to begin with, and everything would be fine when I wake up again.
After all those emotions have come and left my body, I stood up again and straightened myself, leaving my bedroom and decide, for the 254th time, that I should just ignore it all and get back to work already.