They say that your sibling is the only one person that stands by your side for ever, through thick and thin...however, I beg to differ.

I may not have killed an innocent person, or cut myself in all the wrong places but what I did do was unforgettable.

It was just another day, gloomy, dull and completely static. The sun barely shines and the flowers rarely bloom but today; Today was different. Sorrow really does act like a filter to you, blurring colours and blinding any joy radiating from anyone.

I walked down the street to the annual bacteria workshop in school, cringing at the sound of any car rush by me. My dysphoria seemed to be heightened. I inadvertently kicked a rock at an innocent feline causing it to scramble just because I wanted too. I really wasnt feeling quite well. I may seem like a misanthrope but I can assure you, I am not.

After about fifteen minutes , I walked into the narrow gray halls of my highschool. I could hear my teachers voice, and I knew that I was late. As I was neared my destination I heard my brother in the neighboring class speaking intensely to my teacher Mr. Ryan. Almost involuntarily I crept closer to the worn off wooden door, and after adjusting my ear I could finally hear their converstaion. Once again, curiosty had gotten the best of me.

“Yes, my sister did.” spoke my brother tentatively, “It's not possible. Sarah is a hardworking student, her grades can prove that. She has never cheated and I dont think she ever will” contradicted my teacher in a more melancholic tone. Ryan was my literature teacher and my most trusted ‘pal’ at school. As an introvert, I rarely ever conversed with other students.

“She did. She told me herslf. I even recorded her.”

I saw him play the recording from inside the room, and my teacher seemed to be convinced.

“You know that she has to be suspended, correct? And she may never be allowed into this school again if the principal deems it so?” asked my teacher curiously.

“Justice should be served” agreed my twin brother. I almost felt like I heard a bit of pride and humour in that sentence. The scene seemed so planned. Like my own flesh and blood waited for just the right time to devour me.

Almost consequently I raced to the restroom and shrieked in pain. I felt my whole world collapse. I pictured my family’s disgust as they picked up the phone in an hour only to know that their smartest child was a liar. A cheater. I hated Nate. I wanted to kill him. The SATs were the most important exams, and if one were to be caught cheating (or framed, as in my case) there would be no getting over it. My molten rage had solidified and I knew what I was going to do. I rushed to the chemistry lab and mixed an explosive mixture of chemicals. When you top your chemistry tests every week, making compounds that have drastic consequenses was common sense. I felt no guilt, love or even doubt. I grabbed the flask and walked back to the class Nate was in, placed it on the top of the door and left. In exactly 10 minutes I heard screams everywhere. Teachers were racing through doors, students sat confused, and nurses rambled quickly on phones.

I hurt him permenantely. I destroyed him. My own brother. My blood. I stood near his hospital bed staring at his terribly scarred and bandaged face. Beneath which lay my doppleganger. I felt nothing. I wanted to strangle him but I felt my parents gaze on us and I remembered that I wasnt alone. So I walked out quietly and grinned.

Psychopaths usually do....