You know that moment when your sister does something despicable and your parents hold YOU responsible? Well that was EXACTLY what happened to me.

The thing is that when you have an elder sister, you have to'play by her rules', even when she's being mean.

Well, if you meet me, I'm a completely different kinda person. I'm that kind of person who actually enjoys seeing someone getting scolded. And when you settle this idea in your mind, please don't mistake me for those heartless bullies at school who hang out with seedy brats. That option, is not even on my list.

Well, the whole deal was that Jodelle, my no-good sister spilled my father's tea over his newspaper. And that spilled tea dripped from the newspaper,to his brand-new polished leather shoes.

Someone can... well, EVERYBODY can say that 'dog is man's best friend', and when I was younger, I actually believed that. It would've been nicer if father told me that a little while earlier, because he has a special relationship with his tea. In our kitchen, the racks are stacked with cutlery; but there is only ONE rack that contains a special mug, enlaced with pink flowers and traces of silver. Not REAL silver, the fake shining silver. Oh, man. Would you really think that someone would use real silver on his cup? My father isn't that.... oh well maybe he can but, whatever. That mug is offlimits to EVERYBODY, except the one who is making the tea. He had that mug for over 4 years, and he has grown REAL attached to it. That's right. The mug. He loves his mug. He orders special teabags from Scotland, because he thinks that nowdays teabags are a bit too 'mordern'. Don't be surprised. He thinks our cat outside is mordern too.

Father gives that glare that can scare a dead carcass. Lines on his forehead, eyebrows down, and eyeballs sticking out. All you can do is look down, then the nasty surprise comes. Not grounding, not situps, not spanking; and... not mordern. He makes us clean the whole garage. One speck of dirt, and we're in for it. So whenever the 'surprise' comes, and he makes us clean the garage, we put tools and cloths on the permanent areas and the areas we don't want to clean. The rusty, dirty areas where the pigeons were kind enough to leave their waste sticking on the wall. His bedroom, unlike other fatherly bedrooms, is squeaky clean. He sleeps, goes to the bathroom, and the father-room-trip is over. The rest of the evening is spent in the lounge with his mug and his newspaper.  This happens on Weekends. On weekdays, father gets up at precisely 7:00 A.M, drinks tea in his mug, and sets off for his office. He sits there, stares at papers, sips his tea, and his work is over. He is back home, ordering a fresh cup of tea. Don't be surprised if I say he's 35; with raven black hair and hazel eyes; he looks exactly like Jodelle... except Jodelle has brown hair. Besides these, he's a awesome dad; more awesome like any other dad you'll meet.

Well, the family tree starts with my grandfather, who doesn't even know his own name. When mother was born, he didn't even realize it, until my mother got married. He has a GREAT memory loss. Don't even think of him coming on my birthdays. My grandmother, unlike my grandfather, was entirely different person, with an admirable pixie hair cut and grey eyes. I loved her eyes. They were so grey that it seemed that someone sucked out all the colour from them. Although she was old enough, she still dyed her hair. Her grey hair had blue streaks mostly; on special occassions, she used to try out for a different colour. I had to admit, she looked adorable in family albums, when her pixie-hair had streaks of pink. Maybe that's the reason why Giselle called her 'Aunt Blue'. Then she died a mysterious death. No one didn't realize. It was a mystery unsolved, and not worth solving. That was years ago. Then my mother came. My mother was beautiful. She had admirable blonde hair, a pale face and green eyes. Her hair was the thing I most admired; straight at first, and a bit wavy at the end. Her hair shined, exposing the more blonde streaks. Even when NOT in the sun, her hair still shined like she polished it. In simpler words, my mother was an angel, and loved by everyone. Giselle tells me every time that my mother was Aunt Blue's favourite daughter. Also, my mother bought candies and chocolates for us when she reached home. She was actually upset when she didn't bring anything and once she actually cried. I, and my sister crew literally had to soothe her that it was alright, and Mitchelle actually brought up the topic about 'being healthy', and that 'chocolates are bad for us'. Me and my sisters used to glare at her, and Mitchelle used to zip her mouth for another silent moment, and then I used to bring something up to make mother laugh. Whenever I told a joke in front of my family, mother was the only one to laugh, even if my joke was a horrible one. My sisters used to grimace at the sight of the joke and my father stared at me like I just told him to murder the president. See? Mothers are always there to calm you down, even when they know that it isn't alright. Their happiness of their children is the only think they want to see. Mother always told me that I look beautiful, with my bronze hair, and blue eyes. I never believed that though, because my sisters keep telling me that mother was only trying to 'make me happy'. But the loving tone of her voice made me believe. But when your mother dies, the pain doesn't go away, and when it does, memories go around your head and you start to feel it again. That's the same case wth me, and I cry sometimes and I think why was I even born in this world. Father always tells me that I'm going to be a great person one day. I think that 'great one day' meant to him when I recieved first prize in the spelling bee. He's still holding it above my head, but I don't mind. I actually enjoy when he tells relatives that 'My daughter came first in a annual spelling bee competition, and is going to be a professr of literature one day.' Yeah if I was destined to be a great person, or to have a great future ahead of me, I wouldn't mind if my sisters stop bugging me. Spilling water over my textbooks, spreading chocolate over my desks, and putting my pens in freezers, which my father points out as 'cute sister relantionship'. If he was in my place, he would be tearing his hair right now.

My eldest sister's name is Giselle. Giselle nice and all, but she keeps telling other people that I shot my school principal. OH NO NO NO. PLEASE DON'T THINK OF IT THAT WAY. I didn't actually shoot my principal. Once I took my fake gun to school, and it looked pretty real, because of the magazine and all that, but my best friend, Cassandra Hood, shot blankly at the principal while he was giving a speech about the wonderful performance he made when he built the school. OFCOURSE it had no magazine, and the gun was a fake, so it didn't hit him. The audience was taken by surprise, and Cassnadra put the gun in my hands. All those big eyes looked at me, as if I did it. I could swear I Cassandra chuckle behind me. So, I am known as the 'shooter' in school, and Giselle is still holding it over my head. But, she can be pretty awesome sometimes. With her brown hair and green eyes, she's called 'angel' by her teachers, and 'demon' called by me. She's 21, but she looks 17, although I am strictly against this. She should be acting like a 21 year old, but she tears up my assignments whenever she gets the chance. Since she's the eldest, I sometimes just stare as she rips every page of my History project which I had been working on all night. The second-older sister is Gabrielle. I have to say, Gabrielle is the sanest of us, saying that we should never underestimate ourselves and all that. She has her own phone, but she lets me use it, so technically, I'm on her phone more than she is. She's always lecturing me and Jodelle about 'sister love' and that I should stop pulling her hair, and she should stop putting fish in my shirts, but really, it didn't have an effect on us. Jodelle especially. Gabrielle's 19, having a paler face and long wavy red hair. her eyes are a mixture of green and blue, and I stare at her eyes more than her face when she's giving us a lecture. Gabrielle's nice, and I like her a lot. She's at least better than Jodelle. Jodelle ranks third position in our sister crew. She has shoulder length brown hair and brunette eyes. She's pretty, but she is like my blood-bully. We get along sometimes, but we are having fights all the time. ALL THE TIME. Mitchelle is a bit better, but she spills chocolate milk over my copies, and then I get a D+ in my copy. She has hair till back, having blonde hair with brown streaks and emerald eyes. Mitchelle is 16, a year older than I am. She's fair in MOST arguements, and I like her, but not more than Gabrielle. Then Me, the youngest of the Regimsons, having bronze hair and green eyes. My father says I've taken my green eyes from my mother. I am 15, and I hate being 15 and I hate being the youngest. You're not cute, you're not important, you're not valuable; you're a servant. I'm being pressurized by the orders of my sisters; Gabrielle and Mitchelle take pity on me, but the rest treat me like a dirt sandwich. Cleaning their rooms, bringing them snacks, brushing their hair, applying their makeup, it all comes to me. Not anyone else; just me. And then they say, 'No, Vicky, you're the most helpful person in the world, we love you'. The word 'love' is a bit overexaggerated.

Now father is giving me his glare. I look down, my cheeks burning red. Not because I'm ashamed, but I'm angry at Jodelle. 'Is this all your handiwork, Vicky Regimson?' When he takes my full name, he makes the situation more scarier. I knew if I take Jodelle's name, he'll be more confused. 'Sorry father. It was an accident'. I kept looking down, only looking up to see Jodelle wearing that ridiculous grin. I was frowning, but she was taking it funny. 'I hope it doesn't happen again, yes?' I nod my head, I think a bit too quickly. My father actually patted me on the shoulder and went to buy some newspaper. Making Jodelle not going from my sight, I stifle a mean laugh and went to my room.