The Story of the Storyteller

Siblings are weird- shows so that they're either your best friend or your worst enemy- yet in my life siblings has always been a complicated subject. I love them- I just question if they love me too.

With my brother- we lost connection as we grew older, became people. I went to college and he went into the workforce. He was practical and stayed to himself while I learned how to exist with others and form social and emotional relationships. He always had a crude sense of humor that usually involved punching down on everyone, though I was never allowed to make such jokes. As we've gotten older, I distanced myself from him as I didn't really get his jokes, they never seemed that funny, but that was always my fault, I was just not good at picking up that stuff and I needed to read the room when I didn't laugh. He hated feminists and he hated creative minds- both of which I was. He hated outspoken people and he hated "Queer people who made it their whole personality" Apparently wanting to talk about my amazing boyfriends made it my entire personality while him being with his girlfriend all the time was fine. It was weird. I was everything he hated, and I didn't know what to do. He could turn on some anime that was popular and he loved every time I enter the room and he's "Just trying to connect with me" but If I asked him to read or watch what I loved- I was "Shoving my interests in his face" He was always more loved by our family than me. I love him and I want to be closer- but it's so tiring to force myself to laugh at the unfunny jokes and to take his jokes about everything I love- and even at who I am. He likes to say that I'm a "ethical cheater" As if such a thing exists. We've started to talk about DnD more often- but even that is stale. I'm not allowed to talk about my games, he just asks me if a character is an interesting idea then makes fun of my for enjoying the act of collecting dice. I can't really think of any truly positive moments since we were seven years old.

With my sister, I tried so hard to get along. I always kept up to date with her interests, watched them even when I wanted to fall asleep. I wasn't a big TV watcher but I would try to watch them for her. Whenever she was into something, I forced myself into it so that I could talk about it with her- she always "Fell out" of it the next week and found something new. I remember the first time she said something that hurt me. We were in elementary school. I was a third grader and she was in first grade. I waved over to her while she was talking with a friend. She didn't respond and said "I don't know her. Ew" I held my backpack and walked away. I thought she was just being a kid, where older sisters weren't cool- but she kept denying me. One time I tried to talk to her about getting into a show that she liked. She looked at me and said "don't. I don't want you to ruin this for me. You getting into shows is what makes me get out of it." That stung. I cried as she walked out. No one was around to hear it- and every time I try to mention it, I get told "That happens, she's just at an age where younger siblings don't like their older siblings" I just wonder what age that attitude ends, because it seems to determine out lives every day. I can think of a million ways that she's picked on me, made fun of me, denied me, and hurt me but I can't think of a moment when she loved me, lifted me, gave something I love a try, or understood me. I'm always the annoying one. There's the common adage of "You weren't there for my worst- you don't deserve me at my best" well I was there for her worst- why is it that I don't matter at her best. When she got into cosplay at 13, it became worse. She was noticed for her cosplays, and they're amazing and incredible works of art but that fed her ego and her head. She refuses to acknowledge me at all most days- unless it's to make me the butt of her joke. Usually it's about my love of greek myth or my friends. I know it sounds evil, it sounds painful and heartless, but I wish she never got into cosplay. I know it helped her when she developed pots but it's so disgusting how she acts now- I wish she never got into it. Before cosplay, she acknowledged me, she didn't have many friends so I would bring her along with my friend groups because I wanted her to have friends. I refused to let anyone talk down to her. Now it hurts so much when I see her and I can only think about how I will get picked on this time.

my half brother is different- for us we just never clicked. We're 5 years apart so I've always been in a different stage of life than him. I want to connect with him but it's hard. The most I can say is that he idolizes my brother and has developed a lot of his traits. He is mean sometimes but he can be sweet when he wants to be. He makes fun of my creativity at times but my dad shuts him down. I never really interact with him unless my dad is around. I guess my relationship with him is the simplest- we never clicked and so we're just two cars that drive the same road every day.

I was a weird kid. I didn't love to play, I loved to read in a corner of the playground and play in the sand when my teachers took away my book. I didn't like playing with other kids either. I quickly outscored my reading level. My mom even liked to point out that I had taught myself to read as early as 4 years old.

Though I could never find a book series that I could call my favorite. It was strange. Everyone else could find these series that stood with them, that they would theme their birthday each year around. Yet I couldn't. In fact, I tried the popular series at the time, and I hated it.

I wish I could say that my 8 year old mind could sense the racism and transphobia but that would be a lie. Honestly, I would have probably been transphobic back then if I knew what transgender was. I had my head up my ass in religion more than I would like to admit. Combine this with weird little kid brain which made me think that "God is everything I need" Meant I was failing to be a Christian if I had any relationships outside of him. I just flat out hated Harry potter. I could not get into it.

Then one day at the Library, I was walking up and down the isles of books when one caught my eye. It was a book on Greek mythology and it was big with cool pictures. I grabbed it and sat down at a nearby table as I look down at it and instantly I fell in love with it. The myths and gods were so cool and interesting. I loved Athena the most, she matched me. A smart girl wanting to be noticed for once instead of playing in the background. I checked the book out that day, because it was too hard to put it down.

Then there was one teacher I'll never forget- Mr. Williams. He was the only 4th grade male teacher- the only male teacher I knew of at that point. He was like a unicorn to me. He wasn't my teacher exactly- but he was a fourth grade teacher.

During that year, the teachers split the fourth grade up every day for English class. Naturally, I was in the accelerated readers group and I was pretty sure that the teacher for that didn't know what to do with a bunch of kids that were ahead of their reading level so it was just a silent reading class.

Back then, my life was all about the Odyssey by Homer. Again, I was a weird kid. Teachers tended to take it from me and replace it with Harry Potter because it wasn't really "Age appropriate". I doubt they would have done that if I was reading the bible, but that was then. Not much I can do to change it after all. That was where Mr. Williams came in. He was the teacher for accelerated learners. When he saw me reading the Odyssey- he didn't take it away from me until I had finished reading it.

He didn't take it away because he was worried about it's age rating. He handed me a different version that was cracked with pages long yellowed. I opened it and there were sticky notes all over the book with context for who different characters in the Odyssey were and things that I hadn't learned how to pick up yet.

I read that new version with opened eyes. New information that I hadn't learned yet. I loved reading it so much it took me nearly three weeks to read a book that I had finished in about a weeks time before.

After I read that, he gave me a new book. This was wasn't like what I usually read, it was different, modern with a boy on the cover that looked to be just a little bit older than me. He was in front of a city, and the title read "Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightening Thief" I looked up at him and he nodded to me. I trusted him so I shrugged and opened the first page "Chapter 1: I accidentally vaporized my pre-algebra teacher"

I laughed at that title and immediately I was hooked into the story, this kid thought similarly to me and he was relatable. He was cool and I liked him. He was a loner, like me and he went on such a cool adventure in our world.

My world lit up, and I couldn't stop reading that one series. I loved it so much that I reread the book multiple times and at one point had 17 copies of one book in that series in that bag. Granted- that was because I had a teacher who loved taking them away even though I was done with my work. She was weird but so was I. I couldn't really care less.

It was one day, I think I was in third grade. Kids had started becoming weirder. We were in an age of an unfiltered internet at our fingertips. I wasn't allowed that same access, we weren't able to afford that and I preferred being outside anyway. That's where the pretty leaves and sunset were after all. It's also where I could ride my sister's pink barbie jeep- that was back when we were close- or at least I thought we were close. On that day, I had spent so much time building a sculpture, it wasn't very pretty or detailed but I knew it was a mermaid and I was proud of it because I built it and spent time on it. This boy ran by, shouted "BOOB MOUNTAIN!" and smashed the sand sculpture into two round mounds, ruining the past 15 minutes of work I had done. It wasn't much but I was 8. Getting 15 minutes on one project was like a miracle back then. I started crying and the boy rolled his eyes "It's just a joke. Don't take it so personally" He said. I just kept crying, I didn't care. I was upset and that was all that matter. "Hey! Leave her alone! Go do something else!" another kid shouted. You all would know them as Archivist. Though back then her name was Vivienne. I knew more of her since we were in the same third grade class, but we never really talked. I assumed that she found me annoying since that was all I ever was- annoying.

The first memory I have is a bottle cracking. I can't remember why the bottle cracked, I don't even know who did it. I just can't remember anything other than the cracked bottle. I don't know what else there is to remember about it.