Lion and the Mouse

“You have been recruited to join us on Mission Sparrow.” The head officer nonchalantly spoke. A smile slowly appeared on my face, then it faded as the exact words came out. “Celeste, your sister, will also be on the mission. I’m expecting you to work together.” The light out of my face slowly drained. I cocked my head to look at my sister. She looked like a ghost had pulled out her intestines. 

It was when we were born that it was clear we would never be alike.

Born on the same date, from the same mother, in the same house, we looked nothing like each other. Her long, silky brown hair was knee length. Her hazel brown eyes would shine in the sunlight, her face as bright as the sun. I had snow white shoulder length hair, my eyes dull brown. If I was the darkness, she was the light.

But my difference in appearance was made up by my characteristics. 

 At the age of 7, in the holocaust museum of Arizona, I remember creeping through the thick foliage of leaves at the outside of the museum. As my mother described it, I was a troublemaker. Brave, courageous, foolish, there are many more words to describe my lion like nature. Celeste, my sister, and my mother were lingering around the stone walls of the museum, observing the bricky texture. They were grazing their pruned fingertips on the wall, and I snook around the building to the back. The thought dawned on me, would I get lost? 

Pushing the thought away, I found my way through the thickets surrounding me, and perched on the border of a fountain. I imagined myself in heaven, soaring through the sky as a robin. My little orange beak would be nudging through the cotton clouds. I closed my eyes and let the sun drape over me. “Bella! You daydreamer, do you know how worried I was?” A voice echoed through my right ear. My eyes fluttered open, and instantaneously my mother snatched the collar of my shirt. 

“You better not do that again.” She muttered, then pulled me to my feet. “Let me go! I’ll follow you!” I mumble. Slowly, the grip on my collar loosens. My feet touch the ground, and I skip across the path. Celeste gave me a nervous look, as if to say, “If I was you, I’d stay with mom and not be a big problem.” I stuck my tongue out at her and smiled. 

On Celeste’s and I’s 10th birthday, we went out to the nearby park, which was 10 feet away from our house. Mom had packed loads of snacks, including my favorites like pizza, sushi, lemonade, and Celeste’s favorite, fish tacos. As mom set up the plastic table on the wood chip ground, me and Celeste played tag. “You’re it!” I yelled. Celeste was a fast one, her legs a cheetah’s. She was a timid mouse, but a fast one at that. I, a lion, roared and pranced towards her. I tackled her to the ground, and Celeste’s long hair covered her tear stained face. I heard her sob, and immediately stood up, letting go of my grip on her. 

“Are… you ok?” I muttered. “Oh, what happened now Bella?” Mom knelt down to Celeste and picked her up, carrying her to the park bench. I stood from afar, watching mom comfort my sister. I plopped onto the swing, gazing at the clouds. The wind kissed my cheek, and I felt my heart beat slow down. Everything around me was blurry, only the sky crystalline. My snow white hair blew in the wind, touching my lips. 

“Bella, it’s time to go.” Mom called out. I hopped off the swing and bounced around, my rabbit like nature shining now. “Just like her father.” I hear my mother mutter. I ceased my bouncing, and stood still. It was true, my lion personality came from my father. He would tuck me into bed, telling me one of his stretched out stories. Everyday, he would advise me to be a lion,  courageous and brave. I listened to him, and the day he died, I was devastated. I bawled like a little child, and Celeste’s eyes welled up with tears. I strive to be like my father, a troublemaker, courageous, brave, determined, and a lion. 

It was 6th grade when Celeste had really shown her mouse-like personality. 

In the halls of our school building, the occasional students would take a stroll, then go to their class. The first day there, we raised a few eyebrows. Mom parked the black sedan at the front of the school, and we pranced out the car, eager for our new journey. The trees waved to us in the moderate wind, and the sunlight covered our faces.

I puffed out my shoulders and tread across the concrete pavement as if I was on the red carpet. My sister, Celeste, held a low profile, keeping her neck down and taking teetering steps. I bravely held her hand and entered the building. 

A teenage boy eyed us from head to toe, and muttered, “Are you guys related?” Celeste stood behind me and whispered, “Yes, yes we are.” 

As we grew, we thought we would part. Our personalities forbid us from working together. 

We moved into high school. It seemed like we would never be together, we had no connection. I remember lounging in my room, and Celeste entered. She took a seat on my black chair next to the door, and looked around my room. “Are you here for something?” I ask. I noticed her gaping at the birthday card my school friend gave me. “You’re so lucky you have a lot of friends. You were dad’s favorite too.” She softly spoke.

I stood up from my chair and tread towards Celeste. “So what if I’m dad’s favorite? You’re mom’s! Besides, you’re really good in school. Friends are not that important.” Slowly, her face turned red. Was it something I said?

“I can’t believe you. If you thought that would help, it didn’t! You’re just rubbing in the fact that you have more friends than me.” She then pulled open the door and marched her way out the room. I was known to not be a good motivational speaker. Whatever word came out of my mouth, it was a disaster. I wasn’t as soft spoken as Celeste. She had a pure heart, and sometimes, I admired her personality. But I don’t think she felt the same for me. 

Another time in high school, the bell had rung and we were dismissed. As I wandered across the halls, I heard a boy wailing. “It’s ok. We can fix your project immediately.” A soft voice spoke. It was none other than Celeste. I smiled and continued to walk. She was a kind one, to everyone but me. I had a rocky relationship with her. Either it was my lion personality, or we were just not meant to be twins.   

As I grew up, it was time to depart.

I became a part of the military, and I would embark on treacherous expeditions. Me and Celeste grew apart, I left the house often, her looking for pocket money. Mom eventually reached out to her, and finally, Celeste joined the military. I grew distant from her, ignoring her as we never were meant to be twins. 

A mouse and a lion never would work well together on military operations. 

The week after our 25th birthday, we were called upon another vicious expedition, Mission Sparrow. There were more people needed to accompany us on this life threatening mission. My heart beat faster and faster as I thought of who would join us. My name was announced, and my worst fear, Celeste’s name was too.

Today was that day. “Why? We can’t work together! I’m a lion! You said it yourself!” I argue. “Joining the military is to know how to work together. If you can’t do that, you’re not on the team.” I sigh. I look back at her, and scowl. “We’re just too different.”