Note: Parallels to real life are NOT INTENDED, and deliberately avoided.
She was jealous, and she admitted it. Only to herself though. People would never believe she was capable of having such hard feelings. Each day that feeling gnawed at her heart like a dog and it's bone. That was what her heart had become, hard and unfeeling as bone. The feeling was tiring her, hollowing her heart out but preserving the skin, the face-value. On and on, till she reached a point when she felt she would collapse from within.
It infuriated her that she was weak enough to collapse. It infuriated her that she wasn't strong enough to resist jealousy. But it maddened her that she was never given any acknowledgement, while her friend [she stubbornly refused to think of her as anything less than her close friend] was praised beyond the classroom walls by the Others, the sycophants.
And it wasn't the case of her knowing why she was treated that way. Unable to fathom why she wasn't given equal acknowledgement, she blamed it on herself, as she always did. Supressing her anger and all other negative emotions was nothing new to her. She was quite familiar with it, as a matter of fact, for she couldn't find any other way of preserving her friendship.
Without fail, she received a nice expensive gift from the Others each birthday [wrapped by the saleswoman] and it was always accompanied by a card [the type you pick off a shelf] thanking her "for everything" [the card never specified what exactly]. Then, for a few hours, she'd almost burst with happiness. For a few days, she'd re-read the card. For a few weeks, she'd wonder how she could ever have been jealous of such a loving friend when she was treated the same way by Others.
And by the end of the month, she'd have remembered why.
The terrible feeling would rise again, stronger than ever, like a wave that rises higher and crashes harder each time. She'd spent her every waking moment thinking of a reason, just one, for why this was happening. Her heart and her mind were at constant battle, one telling her she loved her friendship too much to house that evil feeling, jealousy, the other telling her she shouldn't care about those whom she felt inferior around.
She thought perhaps it as because her "friend" [she was getting doubtful as to her being a friend at all] was pretty and cute, that everyone endlessly praised her. Was she too pretty to notice the cringe on the face that was always beside hers?
And what about the Others? Did they think she didn't mind being ignored just because she always smiled with pride when someone praised her friend? Maybe they presumed that the sentence that was added on just for politeness' sake was enough for her. "Oh yea, you too. thanks for helping." She told herself to sincerely feel happy for her friend, just like heroines in movies. They would never dream of feeling jealous. But her fortress of pretence was crumbling along with her spirit, and she feared people would very soon see exactly how she felt. [No hope for genuine praise if that should happen, she thought grimly.]
Fiercer and fiercer, the battle within her raged. Bullets penetrated her failing heart and swords slashed into pieces eyes that had once loved the sight of her friend. She felt herself losing control, and she didn't know if she was angry with her friend for getting all the praise, or angry at the superficial Others.
Till one day, one of them came up to her, and told her how much more they'd accomplished her her around, and how much they appreciated her help. She was overwhelmed, and thought smugly about how her friend should have been there to stand on the side-lines for once. "We never realised how we made you feel", they'd said. " "What made you realise it all of a sudden?", she'd asked, more for curiosity's sake than to be snobbish.
"Your friend of course. She was really angry at us for making you feel that way. You're lucky to have someone like her."
The pent-up jealousy was finally leaving her, through her tears that fell, glistening, onto the gift she'd just received, tiny [but made by a huge heart], cheap [but made by a priceless hands], wrapped in crumpled gift paper [but with a friend's love in each fold], accompanied by a handmade card [that would never be found on a shelf], and a letter, thanking her for everything she'd done, from the time they'd first met, to yesterday.
The only thing she saw was her friend's reflection in her tears.
