Monday, 25th June, 2012
Sunlight has to be one of the worst things in the world.
I'm not just saying it because I'm supposed to be the gothic princess of darkness, it's because I have to hide the things I love during the day. I throw off my skeleton duvet (it's too hard to change it every morning and night, so I stick with it, even though it gave me a few nightmares) and brush off my favourite lilac t-shirt and shorts (my real favourite ones, not the black and red set with "Bitten By Dracula" on them, that I say are my favourites) before beginning my usual "Tuck away your likes" routine before school. I start by unfolding my darker posters from above my 1980's and 1990's ones, and pinning them directly over the edges. Next, the collection of Jackson siblings albums(both Michael and Janet) get wrapped carefully in tissue paper and stored in a drawer with the rest of my forbidden favourites. Such as the red skinny jeans I bought in secret, a double-duvet cover with a photo of the Empire State building on it that I'm saving until I move out. My pink and red lipsticks are arranged in a flower design, and my most loved thing of all, a photograph from 1983.
"And you bother doing all this because..." My identical twin brother, Daniel asks, lounging in my bedroom doorway.
"Because you know how often my friends come over. And how long have you been standing there?" I reply.
"Long enough to notice that you're a total sexy beast." He gives me this cheeky wink, making me laugh.
"We look almost exactly alike, you moron." I reply, as it's true. We've always had the same mint-green eyes, heart-shaped face and honey-blonde hair. The only difference is that my hair goes down to my waist, and his doesn't.
"You know me too well. Anyway, change the subject, Merry Christmas." He slaps down a lilac book on my bed.
"And a Happy New Year, except it's June." I reply, picking up the book and flicking through it; hoping to discover the next book in the Strange Angels series (look it up, it's amazing), but I was disappointed to find it was completely empty. "And you gave me a blank notebook because..." I ask, putting it down again.
"English assignment is to write a completely true diary. I got two for a pound in Poundland, so I thought I'd give you a hand." Daniel explains. I didn't go to english yesterday, as I had to get my braces done.
"Thanks, and get out." I reply, much to his surprise.
"Jesus Christ, I'm your twin brother." He sits down on my bed and leisurely leans back.
"I don't care, just get the hell out." I pick up this cushion that one of my goth friends got for my 13th birthday (a right of passage in the eyes of goths) that's shaped like a coffin and threw it at him with all my might.
"I'm going, I'm going. No need for you to be so vic- Oi!" I throw it at him again as he leaves, just because I can.
Shutting the door behind him, I take out my goth-ed version of my school uniform (white polo shirt, around 50 badges with assorted "Bite Me" style messages pinned to my jumper, black skirt with 3 inches lopped off the fraying edge, small-hole fishnet tights, black stockings underneath them, and black ballet flats, all of which I hate with a passion, as I look like a total tart) and changed into it.
After I changed and brushed my hair into reasonable submission, I turned to see Daniel back in the doorway.
"One of these days you're going to regret just barging in like this." I threatened him, running a comb through my hair.
"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, do you know what the date today is?" He asked.
"The 1st of Buyacalendar." I replied.
"Very funny, just thought I'd let you know that your lover died exactly 3 years ago today." He's so sarcastic that I want to punch him sometimes.
"He's not my lover. I never got to meet him, he's dead, and there's a 35-year age gap between us. So you must have a very dirty mind to think of him as my lover." I really, really, hate when my brother acts like this. There's nothing wrong with loving Michael Jackson's music. As long as nobody finds out, that is.
"Ok, ok, don't be so aggressive. And you're gonna be late." He dashes off downstairs before I could punch him, as I would really like to now.