The Other One

I'm working on a story about sibling rivalry, ghosts in the attic and revenge.  Sometimes it gets confused with another book that's been in my head for awhile.  Both contains elements of sisters, the strange bond that they share and the elements of competition and jealousy that are at the root of all female relationships.    I asked myself what lengths the sisters in these stories would go to to get what they wanted.
In one story it is unrequited love that drives the wedge between the girls, although the man that wields the sword is not a lover at all but the girls own father. It speaks to the desire we all have to be seen, to have our existence validated; to be the favourite and to the cruelty of a disinterested parent.
In the other story  the sisters are twins. A tragedy brings about a circumstance which leaves one sister with a burden of tremendous guilt and the other a perpetual child hidden from polite society.  What would happen, I thought, if somehow she were to take her sister's place.  Would the ultimate revenge be to reverse the roles?
As I have mentioned I sketch out my ideas in freeverse.  I find it's the quickest way for me to get the just of the story down without doing the outline.  Here are two versions of 'The Other One'.

The Other One

I have a sister

Who is hidden away

In that room

The one with the lock

And the rusty hinge

She is so small in her mind

Her reasoning is unreachable

She plays with dolls and reads story books

Dresses up in pretty things and

Never sees the sun for more than an hour

She is the skeleton in the closet

The ghost in the mirror and the elf that moves your treasures

And plays a game of hide and seek – cat and mouse-

But she isn’t angry....is she?

The Other One continued

The other one is singing

A nameless tune

It dances through the stairway

And floats into the room

Do you hear it?

The other one watches  from a secret place

and picks the lock while you’re sleeping

to steal a look or two

she is lost or given up for dead

a ghost that can’t be seen

a blemish

an aberration

a twisted trunk in a stunted tree

she waits

and then by chance she walks about

a shadow

 no longer content to grow

in the darkness

she hides in plain sight

The tunes begins

But who is doing the singing?