• I can still hear her wretching; the sounds of the sickness that rolled over her after I told her Alex was gone.


    She and I both would remember this death. I was a mirror image of the girl deceased.


    A twin.


    And with my other half gone, it's hard to function correctly these days. Routines have been swayed.


    I can't look in the mirror. Not anymore. This face isn't my own.


    I can't look at my mother. She only cries whenever she glimpses into my baby-blues, my sister's eyes now.


    It's almost like I, myself, am dead. My sister is resurrecting herself in me.


    I was never the good one, afterall.


    Never the charming, talented, beautiful one.


    I was just her hideous counterpart. The one that didn't matter. Most of the time, the one who didn't exist.


    Yet the good twin died. A drug overdose. A drunken mistake she made at her graduation blowout.


    Mom was devastated. She quickly covered the truth with a little "white lie." She told them all my sister had died in a car crash when a drunk driver hit her dead on.


    Oh, she crashed, all right.


    Her whole system shut down because of all the pills she had been popping.


    She had wanted to "loosen up."


    So I kept handing them to her.