#ThursThreads, week 72

Prompt: http://siobhanmuir.blogspot.com/2013/05/thursthreads-challenge-that-ties-tales_30.htm

If Helen of Troy and Narcissus had a daughter, she would have been Veronica’s ugly friend. In the presence of such radiance, I was inconsequential. My flat-mates teased me. “You’re just jealous,” they said, but they were the jealous ones. I was ignored, to be sure, but none of them had so much as been in the same room as Veronica, whereas I saw her every day.

Veronica had never made eye contact with me, had never spoken to me, and now she never would. But I was no longer an irrelevancy. I knew her routine to the minute. I knew her PIN, where she kept her keys, what kind of cutlery she used with which meal. I could copy her movements exactly, although you’d know I wasn’t her even in perfect darkness.

My corpse was found in a place only she could have gone, killed in a way that no forensic expert could that there was any other possible perpetrator than Veronica.

No other than me, of course. But I’d lived a subliminal existence, and she was divinity made flesh.

Jealous? I was joined with her for eternity.


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