FreshTalkingKids

My parents thought she was a genius.  At age 3 she could walk, talk, run, skip, pace, hop, and jump. On her first day of kindergarten she was all smiles. I couldn’t help but smiling when I looked at her. I sighed, I was a little jealous about how excited she was. After the bell rang and ended the school day, I ran to meet her so that we could walk home together. But she didn’t even respond to me when I asked her how school was, she just bit her lip and stared at me, unsure about anything. And so that was when she became her. I wondered why nobody noticed it sooner, but how could they? When we got home mom hugged her so tight.  I was so sorry when she found out…and I was so mad at Alexa even though I knew I should be worried, for turning and walking out even when she saw the scared expression on my moms face.

“L-Lexie…”I called after her. I tried not to yell you could hear it in my voice that I was frightened. It just made her walk faster.

We named her Alexa but now she wouldn’t respond to anything but Alex. She was born with long black gorgeous hair and on her seventh birthday, she learned how to put it up with a slim wooden stick. She had carved it herself; it was beautiful, thin and smooth. There was a tiger glaring at you from each side. It was so well carved, every little detail, it looked as if they would break through the wood and run around Alexa like tiny guard dogs. This is the story of how my happy life became miserable.

My parents were going to have a baby, a girl. My only hope for the baby was that she wouldn’t be like Alexa. While mom was resting and my dad was taking care of her, I was busy with the charge of cleaning, working, and making sure Alexa obeyed the law. This new job was not easy to maintain, and I often fell asleep around 7:30. Then I dreamt terrible dreams of Alexa silently walking to me and the tigers would jump out at me from her hair and become real. They would circle me growling and roaring for my death. I would wake up early, wanting to scream through the lips I kept pursed, shut tight and I would get to work, sweeping and washing dishes as I waited, dreading the moment Alexa would wake up.

Alexa woke up like a robot, opening her eyes in swift sync. She always seemed to be on the verge of yelling, screaming, but she kept quiet and to herself. The last time she said something to me was about 3 months ago when she found me snooping in her closet. “Watch your back, girl,” she said “That was strike one. If you ever, ever, get three strikes, I’ll kill you.” So now I’m dead. Mentally. Now I’m just like Alexa.  Now I’m dead.