The Lucky Sister
She’s so lucky. And I don't think she even realises it. It's not fair!
20250920
Prompt from DailyPrompt.com
She’s so lucky. Perfectly perfect. Ugh. With her swanlike grace and golden hair and sapphire eyes. Even now we’re both grown she’s still half a head taller than me. And far more beautiful, nobody lets me forget that.
Mother always fusses to make sure darling Susan’s clothes fit perfectly, with flattering cuts and colouring chosen to exactly complement. Then when they’re handed down to me she barely bothers to take the hems in. And doesn’t worry at all about how blotchy or pale they make me look.
And Father falls over himself to brag about my wonderful sister to anyone who’ll listen. Has her accompany him on every trip. I’d love to ride the cart around, seeing the sights and hawking, and I bet I’d do far better at it than prissy missy, but of course I never get considered! No, it’s always sweet, beautiful Susan he wants talking to his customers.
It’s not fair.
It’s just not fair. Why does Cathy get to do whatever she wants? Just look at her, hair flying loose and her skirt covered in grass stains. If I was caught like that I’d get a hiding. Mother clucks and tuts if my clothes are so much as tugged by brambles.
She gets to roam the fields all day with the donkeys, free as a lark, while I’m jammed in a cart next to Father or being paraded in front of his customers like some clockwork automata. A doll that can smile and recite endorsements for ploughs.
Sometimes I wish I was a doll. Then I might not mind being looked at like that.
More often I wish that I was Cathy. Why did I have to be born the older sister? All the expectations got put on me, leaving baby Cathy unburdened. Nobody cares what she does, or how she acts, or what she wears!
She can skip into the pub, barefoot and flashing her ankles, and nobody says anything! Unless she’s tracking mud in. No stares, no leering, no trying to peer under her skirt for laughs. The men call her “sparrow” and treat her like she’s still a child. I haven’t dared be there alone since I was fourteen.
It’s so unfair.
Utterly unfair. She gets to sit inside and help Mother while I’m out in all weathers doing actual work. Of course nobody ever asks poor feeble Susan to wrangle hay. No, it’s sit by the fire, and mummy will bring you tea! And coo about how good you are at counting. Because that’s all making the columns add up is. But Mother and Father act like she’s a genius for it.
Just not fair. An hour without my sunhat leaves me blotched red and having to use Mother’s smelly lotion for days, yet Cathy can soak up as much sunshine as she likes and only goes a lovely toasty brown that compliments her hair and eyes! Here I am stuck inside doing sums until my eyes cross while she’s out in the fresh air. And nobody fusses about her work being just so, whereas I make one mistake and Father will scold me for hours.
She walks like she’s dancing, straight back and delicate steps, and people fall over themselves to compliment her. I get compared to the donkeys. Father sometimes jokes about me being part donkey - though never where Mother might hear him. He never says anything like that about Susan.
She bounds about like a squirrel, unburdened by petticoats and fancy boots, while if I so much as run to avoid rain people comment on me being ungainly! Nobody ever criticises Cathy for something so small.
Every time a travelling artist or the like comes through, the moment they see her they want to paint her. Or have her take part in their performance. Anything to spend time with her. I can barely get them to notice me. Even when I’m far more interested than she is!
I wish I could talk to people the way she does. She’s so fearless. I never know what to say with strangers. My tongue knots itself trying to avoid offending. After all, nobody would let me hear the end of it if I gave someone a poor impression of our family. I end up just… smiling and nodding. Letting them prattle on. And those are rarely interesting conversations. Whereas Cathy chats about everything under the sun.
She’s like a pretty princess. Next to her I feel like an animal.
She’s like a wood nymph. Next to her I feel like a stiff, lifeless puppet.
She’s so lucky. I don’t think she even knows how lucky she is. It’s not fair!
Prompt was “Describe a character's appearance through the eyes of someone who harbours intense resentment for them.”