I am the oldest and I came first, none of my siblings can match up to me.
I excel at everything I touch: the golden child, the precocious piece, the unyielding protégé.
Humbleness is not in my nature, it is for weaker minds than I.
Try, for example, number seven in our line.
I am satisfied with all around me,
except, of course, when someone calls into question my success.
Then I rise fierce as a geyser, as protracted as a hurricane;
It’s all one question to me, and I will never back down.
I came second and I want to come first.
I want everything, until the sound of life sings like a symphony in my ear.
Money, power, status, women: I demand the finer things in life, and I get what I deserve.
Whatever you could possibly think of to desire, I guarantee I desired it first.
And I don’t like to share.
A hundred percent the effort for a hundred percent the reward, my modus operandi is simple:
I was born to desire, and I will always desire more,
except for those with whom I share blood.
There I could stand a reduction.
I came third and it infuriates me, but then that’s hardly a surprise.
Life, from the smallest molecule to the grandest human idea, enrages me –
and makes me feel alive.
I was born with a tempest in place of my soul, which grows year on year, until it breaths
like an oceanic force. And I am borne along on the swell.
Third means nothing when none of my siblings can stand against me, and they enrage me as well.
From superiority to slovenliness, I meet them white with veneration.
I’d gladly dispatch them all and ascend to an ecstasy of violence.
I hate it when people say we’re similar.
Fourth’s my number and I’m the middle child.
I want everything too, but only because you had it first;
I’m more selective than my brother in that sense.
I resent all those who have better than me – it’s a point of degree rather than diversity,
and the degree is exactly what bothers me.
At age nine, I stole an identity from the first in our line.
I’ve followed it up every year since with a new acquisition, until the best of everything they had
became my possession.
And maybe I’m the only one who actually likes having siblings.
Without them there is less to want and resent,
even less to acquire.
I am five times the woman, and I don’t desire silly object or things.
People are my domain. Men, specifically,
and they’re their own silly little things.
Sensuality is at the heart of my nature: the vital, anchoring root of exactly who I am.
I’ve been called carnal in the past, lascivious
and predatory even, but the truth is I’m just playful.
Even my brothers know that.
Men are so … predictable, it’s easy to satisfy what they want, and I pride myself on satisfaction.
Just ask one through three of our line.
I was sixth and born hungry, with an appetite that nothing can fill.
I am empty inside, hollow and boundless as an open sky.
I feel I could eat the entire world, if only I were allowed.
Sometimes I’m so hungry it aches,
and then my siblings may take pity and feed me scraps from their tables.
I’m not picky what I consume, I have an appetite for many delicacies.
Sometimes I’ll even swallow secrets for them,
just so they’ll be pleased and feed me some more of what I crave.
They’re kind to me when I obey, but when I don’t …
Well, there’s a reason why I’m always hungry.
I came last and I’m content to come last, anything else feels overhasty,
and hast is a quality that just isn’t in me.
I like the simple life, steady in pace and place and tone.
Anything worth doing is worth taking its time over,
except I really find anything I want to do.
Even doing this is a pain.
My siblings have already seen and told everything before,
so there’s nothing left worth my effort to say.
Maybe I’ll just sleep instead and while away the hour,
I’ve mostly found life is like dust, anyway:
always more of it left when you awake.