I was utterly surprised to encounter my ink and paper twin. You could say we were mirror twins, in fact. She was hidden in the last place I expected; right in the front, wearing brilliant colors, shouting out to people. I, on the other hand, found myself dusty in the back corner. She was popular, I, not so much. Many chose her, giving her many a home and hearts to welcome her. She appeared adventurous and willing to take a risk or two. Myself, I was only chosen by the occasional person who liked conventional, sensible personalities.

I watched with envy, each day she was picked. Bubbly and vibrant, oh how I despised her. Far from quiet and shy, she nearly shouted to those who passed her by without a glance. In the end, they all found their way back to her, yet never giving her a second glance. She knew she was the one, I never saw her with any doubt. Holding herself high, others endorsed her.

Meanwhile, I found myself gathering even more then the usual amount of dust. I found myself thinking I was the in the wrong century. In fact, I knew I was; I had the proof. Some may say I was boring, out of date, though some like myself, stuck with me, gathering a bit of dust. However, they usually found themselves brushed off, picked up by an interested person or two; even if it was only for a class assignment. I feared I was bound to be lonesome for eternity, or at least until I was transcribed.

Though, I felt I would never want to be my twin. It must be so demanding, so tiring, always being wanted, handled. They must get weary much faster and quickly out of date. Always trying to keep up with the times, up to date, she was. It sometimes sickened me to see how known she was. I admit, to most she looked appealing, and quenched their thirst. But how could she always be so?

She stayed a crowd-pleaser for nearly two years, until finally one day, she was moved. Entering a new place, her vibrant colors shone, though they dulled down. In time she was just one of the others, becoming dull and dreary with her surroundings. I remained dusty, but I took a bit of pleasure in seeing her stagnant. Call me a sadist, if you will. She shone no more than any other in her new home. She was just one of the crowd, the now hated, subject to whispers and points. My twin was not compatible with this situation. She tried to shake off her dust to no avail. It always returned.

Her outside quickly became as dull as I found her insides: useless, pointless. I’m sure many think that of me, but they will ultimately meet their downfall as they move to another place. I, I’m fortunate enough to know I can make a comeback at some point, as my author is declared a literary genius. Her author? She’ll soon be forgotten. I’ll endure the dust, the dryness of my humor, my personality. She, she’ll become weary of her ultimate and sure downfall into nothingness. She won’t be able to handle the unpopular feelings towards her, and spiral, spiral quickly. Thus, my ink and paper twin will be no more.