Pumpkin Spice with Two Sugars

~Cinderella~

Cinderella. That's my name. Seriously. No joke. I promise.

My name is Cinderella. No, I'm not that stupid teenager who just lusts after some semi-handsome prince and ends up having some magical fairy godmother. That was my mother's obsession.

And now my mother's dead. She was the one to frigging name me this, name my sister Frailty, and yet she goes and dies before she can even appreciate her normal name, Sarah.

I had a sister. I guess she was too frail to survive the crash. She was really cool. I loved her more than anything in the world.

And now my sister's dead. She died in the same car crash.

I guess it's kind of funny, looking at life like this. I usually enjoy life. But ever since That Day, I can't bear to see anyone I used to know. Because the odds are that they knew Sarah or Frailty.

And that brings up dark memories.

~

Prince Charming looks at me. And then he walks on by, without even showing any emotion.

I guess I should expect it. He was in the car on That Day. He survived, but has a giant scar on his forearm from where the windshield lodged itself in his arm. My sister loved him. Not like I love him, but she desperately wanted him to become her brother. They were on their way back from the mall. I was told there was a black velvet box in the backseat. I was asked if I wanted it from the cops. I was able to just walk in, say, "My family members died in an accident, and I'd like the box that my boyfriend left in the wreckage."

Who could ever say that? I start crying every time I think of going to get it. Just to see what's in the box. If it's a ring, a bracelet, a necklace, a pin. Just to remember the times he had before he lived with the guilt of basically killing my mom and sister.

~

I don't mind the fact that my mother is gone. In fact, I'm happy. She used to smoke in the apartment, and now the place doesn't smell like smoke.

She helped out the homeless; she gave them her jackets once she passed, since I had no use for them.

She helped the coroner's daughter. Jackie, I think her name was, was getting married. She was running low on money. And then she set up the funeral for my family and I gave her every cent I didn't need in the bank account.

In a lot of ways, she's been better off dead than alive. There's no nagging to do the laundry, or picking up my floor, or even dusting shelves.

I can do whatever I want.

Let boys come in and spend the night.

Throw parties.

Dance around in my underwear, since the nieghtbors already think I'm crazy.

Eat dessert first.

Cry my eyes out over the fact I have no family anymore.

Look at the photo of my dad and wonder if he's happy over in Europe with his girlfriend.

Try to think up ways I'll die.

Cut myself.

Dye my hair.

Think about how Dad is, if he even knows I'm still alive; that I didn't die in the crash, that I was never there.

Sit on my bed and stare at the wall.

Isn't my life wonderful?