The Literal Definition of Crazy.

If there was a way to change the world, believe me, I would try it.

The pencil scratches the paper. The shape of a rose comes into view- only slightly. It actually looks like a flaming rose that is melting, almost like the Wicked Witch of the West. That's perfect.
I hum to myself, making up my own melody.
"Aubrey Alaina..." a singing voice calls out. I sigh, but down the sketchpad, and await my sister's entrance through my door. And then her blonde hair walks right in, strutting her $400 dress. It may not actually be $400, but it's up there.
"What, Liz?" And here it comes... 'I have a date with this super cute....' 'I just bought this SUPER expensive....'
"I am going to the biggest party ever at...." Blah blah blah, bore me, kill me, why is she so annoying?
"Are you listening?" She puts her hand on her hips.
"Oh, no I'm not. Sorry, I was daydreaming..." Daydreaming about laying in a meadow, flowers swaying around me, soft clouds in my reach.
"Aub, stop daydreaming. It's not normal." Normal this, normal that. People don't go in to a store, look for an outfit, and say, 'Wow, this outfit is so normal. I'm gonna buy it." Nobody does that! So why do people always use the word normal?
"I'm not normal," I mutter. I kick my shoes off and sit on my feet, ttt-ing with my tongue.
"One day, you're going to realize what a freak you are." Eye roll. Turn on heel. Strut out. That's how our conversations go. Sisterly love, right? Wrong.
It's a Saturday night? What is Liz doing? Going to 'the biggest party' and what am I doing? Watching Netflix with Chessy. Yes, I named my cat after the Chesire Cat. I love him.
I decide to go see Mom. I stand up, my eyes going purple because I sat up too fast, and walk down the empty hallway.
"Mom?" I call out. No answer. I keep walking, now in the living room. "Mom?" I call again.
"Aubrey!" I get body slammed onto the couch by an 65 pound little girl, who also happens to be my 8-year-old sister Eli. Remember when I was the crazy one? Yeah, she's crazier.
"Eli, what the heck?!" I lay on the couch, my side hurting from where her bony knuckles jammed into me.
"Sorry, but did you know I just got a new doll?" Her wide eyes are filled with excitement. Too bad I couldn't care less about a doll.
"That's amazing, do you know where Mom is?"
"She's at the store buying frozen pizza." Eli stands up, brushes off her ripped shorts, and walks away. Creepy kid, that's what that brat is.
I turn on the Wii- that's what we have Netflix on. I go onto my account and click around for a movie.
"Here, Chessy-chessy," I say, clicking my tongue. My fat black cat jumps on the couch and curls up on my leg. I stroke behind his ear, and he purrs rather loudly.
Mean Girls, that's what I watch. Why not? It's a perfect description of the literal mean girls in our society- heck, in the same neighborhood, as me. Chessy falls asleep, and eventually I do, too. My head rests against the arm of the leather sofa, and my cheek is smooshed on it.
It's not until I hear the door close, and a ditzy giggle, that I wake up. I jerk into a sitting position, me head pounding. Here it comes, my full-blown headache. Those suck.
Giggle. Slip. Fall. There goes Liz.
I get up, walk over to where she's laying in front of the door, and sigh.
"Liz," I say, shaking her.
"Oh, my my my, Mr. Gatsby, how do you do it?" Giggle. She smells strongly of alcohol. Of course she would get drunk. I grab her my under her armpits and drag her down the hallway, which is very hard because she's 18 and 30 pounds heavier.
I kick open her door, throw her onto her bed, and stare at her. Is this what life is like when you're fake? I pull off her stilettos, yank the blanket up over her head, and smack her.
"No, ow. No no no," she mumbles. She deserved that smack. Drinking. Phht, what an idiot.
I leave her room, and look outside. It's clearly extremely dark. My headache isn;t getting any better, so I walk to the kitchen to grab some headache meds. The clock says that it's 2:31. Wow. I pop open the pill bottle, get a small white pill, and shove it into my mouth. I swallow it, woozy from being so tired. I get back on the couch, pulling Chessy on top of me, and fall back asleep.

My stomach churns. I sit up, my mouth feeling watery and unusually numb. Then the chunks slide up my throat. I clamp my hand over my mouth and run to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet and vomiting.
Oh crap. I was supposed to drink water with the medicine or else I would throw up. Great.
Once I'm done puking, I sit with my head against the wall, fighting off my nausea.
This is my life. Getting called a freak, being tackled by my sister, watching Netflix with Chessy, saving my sister's butt when she's drunk, and puking because I didn't read the label right. It's boring and dumb and overall too normal for my taste.
I'm going to change that.