Sisters

Today, like most days, my sister has confiscated our bedroom mirror. It’s Friday night and she stands primping and pouting at her reflection, getting ready for another party at another friends house. Our microscopic bathroom is suffocated in a cloud of hairspray and perfume. She’s spent so much time looking at herself she should have her face memorized by now, and as much as I hate to admit it, hers is not a hard face to look at. Her skin is buttery smooth and golden brown like a tan. Black slanted eyes sit perfectly above her small nose and pink cupids bow lips. My sister is perfect and she knows it. The personality could still use some work though. Keycoka picks up her brush and starts smoothing her glossy black hair. Her hair is her pride and she’d rather lose her right hand then take off one inch. She catches me staring in the mirror and her eyes flash with contempt. “What do you think you’re looking at?” she screeches in one of those remixed voices you hear in the movies when someone is possessed by the devil. She’s suddenly holding her brush like a weapon and I decide to swallow my witty come back and retreat back to our room. The inevitable beating wouldn’t be worth it.