"The Other One" by Elizabeth Harshberger

I’m alone…and cold…and so hungry…a science experiment, that’s all I am. I’m the unlucky flower stuck in the cupboard. Here I sit all day, in the dark, wilting away. Why? What did I do wrong? Why do I deserve this torment? I struggle for life each day on the scant water they give me, and the tiny rays of sunlight that penetrates the thick wood doors in the early morning. Every day I reach for it with all my might, and every day it leaves before I can. It is tormenting me. When they do take me out to prod and poke, to measure and write stuff down on their papers, I soak up as much of the warm light as I can. I sit next to her, and envy her. The other one; the lucky one. She sits there, mocking me, filled with sunlight and life, happy. I hate her. I loathe her. But I can’t do anything, I’m too…tired…all the time…I can barely breathe…I ignore her instead, and let the brief, warm hands wrap themselves around me and fill me with unending energy. Then they put her back on her window sill, and me in my dark prison, a devoid of the very thing I seek. I think about the other flower a lot, how she sits there, smiling, all happy and pretty. I wish I could be her. She doesn’t know what she has. She doesn’t deserve the warm rays of the sun. She doesn’t… I’ll show them one day…I swear. I’ll live. I’ll keep searching for my precious light, my precious life. One day I’ll make it, I’ll get myself there. I’ll drink in the fresh soil; I’ll breathe in sweet air. Write that on your paper; stick that in your books. I’ll be the one to live, and she’ll be the one to die.