The Nemesis

I was nine when she left.
Mackenzie and my parents had a big row the night before and in the morning her bed was neatly (and uncharacteristically) made, with a note on top.
Dear Mum, Dad and Nelly,
I have moved out to make my own life and follow my own dreams.
I’ll be fine; don’t come looking for me.
Thanks for what you did.
I love you
M
I wasn’t surprised; she’d been out more than she’d been in the house these last few months. I did feel slightly insulted that she’d put my name alongside those of our parents’, though, that she’d thrown me in a cage with those unfeeling gorillas who’d stopped her from doing what she loved. However, reassurance arrived within a few days in the shape of an email. Mackenzie wrote of how she’d found a government flat, that she had a few ideas, and that she was going to follow them.
My sister had always wanted to be a writer.
“A writer?” spluttered our mother when she first heard. “Whatever do you want to be one of those for?”
“Wanna get published, eh?” asked our father. “Likely story, chump!”
But I’d read Mackenzie’s stories and she was pretty damn good. I was transported into worlds of demons and fairies, witches and elves, people on their deathbeds and talking animals. She was a lovely storyteller. She’d sit by my bed and whisper softly in my ear, telling tales. She’d made up a series just for me: Nelly the Nugget. I used to fall asleep hearing about a nugget who nearly drowned in sour cream but was rescued by some tomato sauce, then cruelly stabbed to death with a fork. I used to love those stories, except that they had my name in them. I’m kind of sensitive about my name. It’s Nelson. Eugh. I was never told why I was named so, but I’m 95% sure it’s because I was conceived there. However, I must count my lucky stars. At least I wasn’t made in Whakatane or something.
My sister once told me that only the fool preened herself on her looks. That made my mother the biggest fool of all. My mother was nine parts looks and one part brains. Obviously, that left absolutely no parts common sense. I was almost single-handedly raised by Mackenzie, as my father worked constantly just so we could pay the bills.