Seeing from the other side
A letter to my dead twin
So, after getting some blood work done, I was told that I had traces of another human in my blood, which means it's a dead twin. This happens when a set of twins is in the same wound, and 1 twin dies during development and gets absorbed by the stronger twin as nutrients. Basically, resulting in the surviving baby as a chimera.
I didn't know I was a twin, and I feel really sad that this entity was around me my whole life, and now that I'm 44, I finally decided to write about it, because I discovered this three years ago. So, what you're reading is something I'm just thinking in my head of what I'm saying, supposedly to my dead twin. I refer to the entity as “twin” because it is a part of me. I'm sad that the twin does not have a life of its own; it just sees the world through my eyes. I finally acknowledged its presence. I'm sorry I didn't notice it before; thankfully, it has given me signs that it has forgiven me and is in a state between the dead and the living, but in a safe way.
Dear Twin,
I'm your big sister. I'm sorry, I don't know your gender. They couldn't figure that out with the results. But just know that I love you with all my heart, and I'm sorry you couldn't be born and see the world I live in. To be honest, life is very difficult for humans.
I've seen this world at a young age, as struggling, you see before our mom was with our birth dad, mom was married before to an asshole, and everyone in our family believed I was a ******* child but rest assure we are the biological child of our birth dad not our mom's previous husband and thank God because mom's previous husband was nothing but trash.
Growing up, I've had a lot of struggles. Being born with a learning disability doesn't make things easier, and it makes you an easy target.
People don't understand, people are judgmental, and I'm really sorry to say this, twin, but I really hate the world. I don't like people because I have been let down and betrayed. The only good thing I could see in people was meeting an amazing man. We are married, and we have a beautiful daughter, it's your niece, and if you were born a twin, you and my daughter would have been happy hanging out, you know, doing niece and auntie or uncle stuff like going to get ice cream, going to the movies, pretty much even having a scrapbook of funny pictures being silly.
I am sorry, twin, but in my opinion, the human race is a prototype that malfunctioned and is beyond repair. Maybe in the next life we can meet and perhaps try to help save this world for the children. I know there is still good in people, but it's making it difficult to find those good people and even to try to believe there's still good.
Did you know I wrote a story for a game I am trying to develop in which humans are completely wiped out? I wrote the story out of anger when I lost my home and was forced to sell it because I was betrayed. It makes me sad that it's gotten to the point where our species may be something we may not want to save, because of what we have done to this planet and to each other. Twin, I may have given up on this species but perhaps in another life you can change that, maybe the reason why you weren't born is because you're meant to do something in another life, maybe we are meant to trade places in another life just know I love you and whatever you choose to do in the next life I am proud of you and hopefully the world will not betray you and hurt you like they did to me.
About the Creator
stephanie borges
I've been writing off and on for years; I write short stories, scripts, and blogs. I can't think of anything more relaxing than writing. I also do graphic design.
Keep reading
More stories from stephanie borges and writers in Fiction and other communities.
What Nobody Warns You About Growing Up
Nobody warns you that growing up doesn’t happen all at once. There’s no clear moment when childhood ends and adulthood begins. It sneaks up on you quietly, disguised as routine, responsibility, and small decisions that suddenly feel heavy. When we’re young, we imagine growing up as freedom. We think it means staying up late, earning money, making our own choices, and living life on our terms. Adults look powerful from the outside—confident, certain, and in control. What nobody tells you is that most adults are still figuring things out, just like you were, only with higher stakes. One of the first shocks of growing up is realizing that no one is coming to save you. As a child, there is always someone to fix things—parents, teachers, elders. A bad grade can be explained. A mistake can be forgiven easily. But as you grow older, the safety net thins. Mistakes start costing time, money, relationships, and sometimes self-respect. You learn that accountability isn’t just a word; it’s a weight you carry every day. Nobody warns you about how lonely growing up can feel. Even when surrounded by people, there’s a quiet distance that forms. Friends you once spoke to every day slowly drift away. Not because of anger or betrayal, but because life pulls everyone in different directions. Jobs, families, priorities—all rearrange your circle without asking for permission. You stop expecting people to stay forever and start appreciating those who do. Another thing no one talks about is how often you’ll doubt yourself. As a child, you dream without limits. You want to be everything at once—successful, admired, fearless. Growing up introduces comparison. You see others moving faster, earning more, achieving milestones you haven’t reached yet. Social media makes it worse, turning life into a scoreboard you never agreed to play on. You learn that confidence isn’t permanent; it’s something you rebuild again and again. Growing up also teaches you that hard work doesn’t always pay off immediately. You can do everything right and still feel stuck. Effort doesn’t guarantee results, and patience becomes one of the hardest lessons. Nobody warns you how exhausting it is to keep going when motivation fades and only discipline remains. Yet this is where growth actually happens—in the moments when quitting feels easier than continuing. Then there’s the emotional part no one prepares you for. You start seeing your parents as human beings, not just authority figures. You notice their fears, regrets, and limitations. Sometimes you understand them more; sometimes it hurts to realize they didn’t have all the answers either. Growing up often means forgiving people—not because they apologized, but because holding on to resentment is too heavy. You’re also not warned about how your definition of success changes. It stops being about applause and starts becoming about peace. A quiet mind. A stable income. A few people who genuinely care about you. You learn that happiness isn’t loud or dramatic; it’s often found in ordinary moments—coming home tired but safe, laughing at something small, sleeping without anxiety. One of the hardest truths of growing up is learning to let go. Let go of versions of yourself that no longer fit. Let go of people who can’t grow with you. Let go of timelines you once believed were fixed. This letting go feels like loss, even when it’s necessary. Nobody warns you that growth and grief often walk together. Yet, despite all this, growing up gives you something valuable—clarity. You begin to understand your boundaries. You learn when to say no without explaining yourself. You start choosing what matters instead of chasing everything. Strength stops looking like loud confidence and starts looking like quiet resilience. What nobody warns you about growing up is that it will break you in small ways—and rebuild you stronger in others. You’ll lose some innocence but gain wisdom. You’ll trade certainty for understanding. And even on days when you miss the simplicity of who you once were, you’ll realize you’re proud of who you’re becoming. Growing up isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about learning how to keep going, even when you don’t. And maybe that’s the lesson no one warns you about—adulthood isn’t a destination. It’s a continuous act of becoming.
By Hanif Ullah 3 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.