My grades tanked on the midterms, and I got kicked out of the Honors Program, dumped back into regular classes. My parents took a belt to me until I was covered in welts, then made me kneel in the living room until late at night. My genius older sister, Emily, called me an idiot. My pretty, artistic younger sister, Chloe, flaunted the love letter she got from Ethan—the guy I had a secret crush on. So, I gripped the fruit knife tightly and killed them both with my own hands. 1. All I ever dreamed of was my parents acknowledging me just once, praising me just once. But growing up, it never happened. Not even once. All because I had a genius older sister, Emily, and a pretty, artistic younger sister, Chloe. Even though we were triplets, I was the plain, awkward one. Every time I handed my parents a report card where I barely scraped by, trembling, they’d scowl, and then, without warning, a slap would land across my face. My ears would ring violently, but it didn't stop their voices from cutting through: "You pig! Do you think I work my ass off just so you can embarrass me like this? Are you brain-dead?" "Why don't you just go die!" My parents were obsessed with appearances. And I was just a constant source of embarrassment for them. My nightmare always began after family get-togethers. My aunts, uncles… the words spilling from their mouths were like a curse. "My little Susie got straight A's again, top of her class!" "My Timmy’s doing great too, made class president." "Our Jenny won an award at the Mathletes competition!" Every time, my mom’s face would darken, forcing a tight smile. She'd glare at me, huddled in the corner with my head down. "Our Ashley just can't compare to those good kids. Bad grades, no common sense… just useless." Back home, the moment my dad reached for his belt, I’d wet my pants in fear. While I screamed and tried to shield my head, my sisters, Emily and Chloe, would stand nearby, watching with blank expressions. Emily’s brilliance and Chloe’s outgoing nature weren't enough to erase the stain my uselessness brought upon my parents. I still don't know why. I just couldn't grasp those complicated math symbols, couldn't memorize vocabulary words, couldn't understand dense texts. Just looking at a textbook made me tremble. 2. I sat on the floor, staring blankly at Emily lying in a pool of blood. She still wore her thick, black-framed glasses, her face frozen in terror, hands clutching her bleeding stomach. Ignoring the throbbing pain all over my body, I tried to drag her corpse under the bed. We triplets had the exact same face. As I pulled her, I felt disoriented. It was like I was the one lying there. Or maybe, like I had finally become Emily. Emily was the smart one. She could effortlessly get the grades that made Mom and Dad happy. She could solve math problems in seconds that I couldn't figure out even if I stared at them all night. At home, she could do whatever she wanted. Never yelled at, never hit, never forced to kneel. But she never helped me either. She’d only whisper in my ear while I studied late into the night, "Ashley, stop trying. You'll never get it. You're just an idiot." "No matter how hard you work, Mom and Dad will never approve of you. In their hearts, there's only room for their brilliant daughter—me." As if to prove her point, the next second, Dad would get up to use the bathroom, see my light still on, kick my door violently, and start cursing. "It's this late, and you're still wasting electricity! If you can't get decent grades, I'll beat you to death!" Emily would just give a soft chuckle, yawn, and climb into bed for a peaceful night's sleep. Now, she lay on the floor, pale and breathless, unable to mock me ever again. The sensation of the knife sinking into her soft belly was strange. I didn’t feel scared, just a sort of grim satisfaction. With her dead, would Mom and Dad finally see me? Finally approve of me? Would they stop tearing up my report card when I improved by one rank? Stop ripping up my honor roll certificates? Stop throwing away the gifts I saved up to buy them? 3. Using all my strength, I shoved Emily's body under the bed. Then I leaned against the bed frame, gasping for breath. Chills ran through me, making me shiver. It was so cold. Just like that winter freshman year when I failed English. Dad ripped off my winter coat and made me kneel on the balcony in just my thin clothes. It was snowing that day. I was freezing, collapsing onto the cold concrete. The snow landed on my swollen, red face. It felt cool, almost soothing. I couldn't help but let out a small laugh. That just made Dad angrier. He whipped me again, hard. "You stupid idiot! Your mother and I never amounted to anything, working dead-end jobs our whole lives. We pinned all our hopes on you, hoping you'd make something of yourself, make us proud! Why are you so damn dumb!" Emily and Chloe peeked out from behind Dad, making funny faces at me. I mumbled, "You still have them." Dad kicked me again, harder this time. "Don't change the subject! Talking back now, are you?!" A whimpering sound started. It wasn't me; it was Mom. "Ashley! I eat leftovers every day 'til my stomach hurts, my hands are chapped and raw from washing your clothes, I walk everywhere instead of taking the bus, all to save money for your education! Why can't you just try harder?" "Can't you make your parents proud just once?" I looked towards where Emily's body lay hidden and shook my head silently. There are so many naturally smart and talented people like her. Does only a child as brilliant as Emily deserve a parent's love? Footsteps sounded outside the door. Mom and Dad! I held my breath, my heart pounding like it would burst out of my chest. "Is Ashley asleep?" "Looks like it. The light's off." "Sigh." A heavy sigh, then silence returned outside the door. But that sigh felt like it crashed right into my heart. They must be so frustrated, so disappointed. I wanted to be the child they could be proud of. But… I just couldn't do it. I could never be as perfect as Emily. Since I couldn't become her, my only choice was to kill her. After shoving her under the bed, I let out a long breath. Emily, you must really regret coming in to mock me tonight after I got beaten, just like all the other times, right? I stumbled a few steps and tripped on something, nearly falling. Looking down, I saw a few paintbrushes. Nearby lay Chloe's body. 4. I crouched down, reaching out to touch her cheek. I still couldn't understand why, with the exact same face, she was considered prettier than me. Oh, right. She had that small beauty mark near the corner of her eyebrow, adding a playful charm. I really didn't want to kill her. I liked her the most. She was pretty, cheerful, her eyes always bright, a smile always on her lips. What adult wouldn't like her? Once, after finishing my homework, I secretly started drawing. Using a pencil, I sketched the world of my dreams. The lines and shades seemed to come alive, flowing and dancing on the page. I was lost in it when suddenly, Mom was standing behind me. I hadn't even heard her come in. Her jaw clenched, she snatched my drawing, ripped it into shreds, grabbed my pencils, and threw them violently across the room. Then she dragged me up and called Dad. "Instead of studying, you're messing around with this useless junk! Drawing? Can drawing put food on the table? If I catch you doing this again, I'll break your hands!" As Dad smacked my palms with a ruler, Chloe skipped over, picked up my fallen pencils, her eyes sparkling as she examined them. After that day, Mom and Dad signed Chloe up for art classes. They didn't pressure her about grades; they let her become an art student. I gritted my teeth and dragged Chloe's body with all my might. The shiny fruit knife was still embedded in her stomach. As I pulled, a pink envelope fell out of her pocket. I picked it up, studying the envelope closely. This letter. This was what cost Chloe her life.
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