Warning: Mature themes, foul language and brutality

  *************  

It was always about her, right from the start.

The taste of bile and bitter gourd would always rise upon my throat whenever I think of my beloved sister: the graceful Gloria Geronimo. I came before her in this world and I was once the charm of the center table, but alas; I'm just an adopted child. Nonetheless, we were happily content back then. Just me, Papa and Daddy.

But of course, this hell-spawn horror summoned by science had to enter the game and fuck things up – in vitro gametogenesis. They've finally found a way for same-sex couples to have a baby. They harvested some stem cells from Papa and bio-engineered it to become egg cells, then they acquired some sperm cells from Daddy and with all the key ingredients, they created the horrific masterpiece that soon destroyed my life — a test tube baby.

Of course, it had to be perfect. Of course, it had to inherit Papa's blue irises and Daddy's porcelain-white skin. Of course, it had to be better than me.

It.

Funny, but I've always found it amusing to refer to her as 'it' because it gave me a sense of authority as if I'm something greater than an 'it' like her.

Every other girl in our school envied her. I mean, who wouldn't? Even I envy her, with her brown locks, her straight and pearly-white teeth, her intelligence and her awesome social skills.

Maybe that's the reason why Papa and Daddy always gave her all the attention; aside from being their own biological baby, she's basically perfect. Maybe that's why when we were once at the carnival, she got the chance to ride the Merry-go-round with Papa and Daddy while I had to wait in line at the sharp-shooting game to win her the unicorn doll she always wanted.

I should've kept that doll for I won it, but Daddy said I was "too old for dolls", so I was forced to give it to her. That day brought fuel to the wildfire of wrath and envy burning inside of me.

Of course, puberty had to strike. Of course, it had to torture me with pimples and anxiety, while she got wider hips, plumper lips, a sexy figure and the size of a G-cup. A fucking G-cup. When we went to college, all the boys went gaga over her wholesome watermelons of dangling flesh happily attached on her chest. How can a human being get so much perfection?

Of course, she had to have a boyfriend. Of course, she had to get a perfect man; a man so dedicated that even though torrents of rain are pouring thoroughly down the streets, he will run through the watery obstacle just to get to your house. A man so determined to win your heart as well as your parents' own, that he'll invade the inaudible stillness of the moon, scattering light around, his race towards your heart filled with hope.

Of course, it had to be my lifelong desire and the love of my life, Greg Garrison. No doubt, they will make perfect babies.

"He's mine! Only mine!"

I giggled at the stupid sentence stated by the character in the dramatic TV series flashing on the screen; the same words I have always wanted to say to rebuke and stop my sister from falling for Greg.

But I never did. Besides, it's too late already; of course, they had to be engaged.

Instead, I went to the cosmetic store near our house, timed perfectly and aligned to that cheap midnight sale given by the store, for I know that he can never say no to those thrift lipsticks that my sister always used. As for him, it has always been ineluctable that he'll meet up with my sister every Saturday in his apartment.

He opened his door, expecting to see Gloria, only to be greeted by a strong strike of a baseball bat on his head, knocking him unconscious. I went inside and locked the door before tying him up on a chair with the ropes I brought.

And as for his future wife, I did the same to her when she arrived before placing them back-to-back. What a disgustingly beautiful, unconscious pair.

I took out the scalpel from my medical kit, knowing exactly what I needed to do, being trained as a surgeon back in college with her.

Before Papa and Daddy adopted me, they knew well enough of my abusive past and its psychological effect on me. Papa would always give me beta-blockers in an attempt to distort my memory and make me forget. However, I always faked taking them, so my childhood trauma never really left me. I guess it's starting to take a toll on me.

I placed a gag on her mouth to muffle her screams before removing her blouse and bra. Without any anesthetic, I started carving out her breasts, which woke her up soon enough, invoking muffled screams out of her mouth. I made it quick and precise, and before she even knew it, I had two pieces of beautiful flesh on my two hands. Tears stained her cheeks as more rivers of pain streamed out of her red, puffy eyes.

Then, I took out my sewing kit and removed all my clothes, revealing my flat-chested body. Without giving a single fuck, I started sewing the breasts on me. Blood trickled out of the spots where the needle burrowed, but I knew I was doing the right thing.

"Pain is gain," I muttered before taking a deep breath and continuing my process of beautification. After a few more agonizing minutes, I finally finished my masterpiece. It felt numb and heavy on my chest, but it was absolutely worth it. I then angled Gloria's chair so that they would be sitting side by side.

My lovely Greg was still asleep, hinting that I might've struck him too hard. Oops. With a great idea on my mind, I stabbed him on his left thigh with my scalpel, jolting him awake with a scream of pain.

"Rise and shine, honey!" I sweetly cooed to him. His beautiful brown irises were clouded with fear and confusion as he looked around, only to see Gloria bleeding to death by his side.

"W-what the fuck...Sam?" he managed to mutter in fear.

"Don't you like what you see?" I said, emphasizing my naked body—specifically my newly-stitched breasts and my lips tainted with the cheap cosmetic product he always loved about my sister.

"Why the fuck would I enjoy this?!" he shouted, his voice laced with a newfound emotion evident in his tone: anger.

"I'm d-doing this for you, b-because I love you, Greg! Y-you love me too, right? Should I wear her blue eyes too? Or her brown hair? Her smooth skin? Her straight teeth?" I blabbered, unaware of what I did wrong. Images of me peeling out her skin and plucking out her teeth flashed through my mind.

"YOU'RE CRAZY!" he screamed, making me fall silent, obviously hurt by his statement. "Why would I 'love' you that way? YOU'RE GLORIA'S BROTHER!"

His voice fell like it hung on the air for a while, his painful words ringing in my ears. Never did I even get the chance to shout out my anger, for it took form into my actions. A rapid stab in his right eye with the scalpel turned into a swift stabbing spree as I released my entire wrath on him. With his right eye already devastated, I went on his left eye, then his entire face, and soon enough, he was an entire bloody mess.

Bits of flesh and blood scattered across the floor and on my naked body. I slumped down the floor, sobbing in defeat until I fell asleep out of exhaustion, together with two dying bodies.

*************

I was awoken by the sound of the storm of karma and consequence, in the form of squeaking brakes and squealing sirens, as if the drivers had a burning desire to scrape the stillness of the peaceful dawn. Heavy footsteps stormed outside the apartment, which made me aware of what was about to happen. I will refuse surrender if I can, but in my position, that's not even an option anymore.

Of course, it had to be my fault. Of course, it has to be her who would be buried alongside her lover. Of course, it had to be me who shall rot forever in prison.

Fuck you, Gloria Geronimo; for being so perfect and for being Papa and Daddy's favorite.

Fuck you, divine weaver of destiny who wrote this shitty life of mine.

And fuck you, spectator, for being the reason why I even existed. Did you enjoy reading my torturous life? If yes, then fuck you.

To be honest, I envy your autonomy and freedom, for you have no pen to dictate your destiny.

So fuck you.