Packing for college was hard: even more when a part of you didn't really want to leave at all. Grown-up life would never be like my childhood days here, in my hometown. I summoned the courage to not cry as I hugged goodbye to my parents, Sarah had managed growing up afterall: my adventurous, caring sister. If she could I could too.
Their faces, covered in tears, reminded me of mine when Sarah snatched her bear, Lancelot, back from me. I only ever wanted it because it reminded me of her.
When no-one else understood what my strange gurgles meant, they did. Lancelot and Sarah heard me. Sarah's stories were the only ones I ever really liked. I'd prefer clashing swords, ancient goblins, dangerous journeys and cruel kings any day to mother's petty little tales of rabbits and fire engines. I preferred Sarah because she understood me. I preferred Lancelot to any of my other expensive toys. Because you see, if I'd not stolen Lancelot all those years ago, Sarah would never have cared the way she did. I always knew something had happened to change her that night.