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Isobel's room.

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Isobel Ever since Isobel had left, on a cold and frosty February morning last year, her room was mine. When Isobel was here, I would go into her room when she was out. I would tiptoe in, so as not to disturb the prints in the carpet from her graceful feet. I would gaze in envy at the numerous beautiful hardback books that our mother had given her; they had never been read and simply collected dust and had stood in piles. It made me bitter when I thought of the tattered copies of the classics I had scavenged for at jumble sales and the efforts I made to return the library books I so frequently borrowed. Paper shopping bags from expensive shops, many still with new yet unworn designer garments hung of door handles and bed posts, reminiscent of the countless shopping trips Isobel would make. My tiptoeing feet would step over the various scattered shoes and I would glare at the beautiful things she had, at the silver jewelled necklaces that would glint, even in the dark, at the photos of her and her friends in elegant frames and at the luxurious cosmetics, adorning her vast dressing table. ...read more.


I didn't see why Isobel's room should be left for her when she had left us and I, who had loyally stayed with my parents had to stay in the 'box' room. I took it and I didn't care. I didn't care when I used up the last of her designer fragrances or when I folded the pages of her previously unread books instead of using a bookmark and I didn't care when adopted her belongings for my own. My parents seemed to notice my presence in the house even less since Isobel had gone, they didn't care when I walked round the house in her stiletto boots and clothes or drank from the 'Isobel mug', they hadn't forgotten her though, they just seemed to want to concentrate so hard of remembering their Isobel that their didn't seem to be any room left for Lily. One night, I was sleeping in Isobel's bed, I woke up and I could see my mother standing in the doorway staring into the room but she didn't seem to notice I was there and she just stared and in the moons cold light I could see the silent tears that were falling and they glistened in the dark. ...read more.


We had a normal family meal and we talked like a normal family. All the time I had been occupying 'Isobel's room', I still referred to it as that but now I went in there and I felt it was mine and our whole family had been freed from the not knowing. Everything around 'my room' was mine: the mug of coffee, cold and abandoned on my window sill, the crumpled bed sheets, the clothes and shoes, the dirty laundry littering the floor, the much read books, the papers on the desk. It was my head that had indented the pillow and I wasn't jealous of Isobel anymore, I felt deeply sorry for her instead. The quiet and younger sister person within me had died with Isobel and I realised that even since she had gone I had become my own person, no longer living in the shadow of a sister. It was very final now though that she was never coming back and as I began to tidy my room to make it how I liked it, I began to think of interesting colours to paint over Isobel's deep purple walls and the changes I would make. The chains that had bound me to walk behind her had been cut and now I could begin the rest of my life as my own person, as Lily James. 1,614 words ...read more.

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