Quotes from “The Looking-Glass Sisters” by Gøhril Gabrielsen

Everything has been written, my story is complete, it disappears. And in a moment I will be gone.
Here, right at the beginning of memories, I am open to the idea that I, this dusty old thought of living, this primeval wish for a life, have not been conceived and born.
So now the room is empty and completely clean, and all that’s left is me and the bed. But of course we are also inseparable, forever bound to each other.
even my birthday in January has passed by unnoticed
Johan’s wedding night hammers against my eardrums. Is he punishing both Ragna and me?
And from that day on we’re divided into two irreconcilable camps: the married couple and me, we two and you, them and me.
Through an indescribable tiredness I register the fact that I am scarcely able to distinguish myself from the bed and the dust,
My god is oversensitive suffering. My gospels: illness and dependence. And my prayers: a constant yelping, mixed with moans and shrieks of pain.
And I know it makes me afraid, this recognition of the fact that I live through Ragna,
Will a memory like that save us, Ragna? Will it provide hope for a possible sisterliness?
But something happens – I crash after only one step, stumble and fall flat on my face, tripped by Ragna’s left foot. There’s pain in my face, my arms. I look up. Ragna, running, turns round towards me, laughs and sticks out her tongue.
Do you see it? That’s what you’re like, precisely like that,’ Ragna says.
And then I see it too. In among thin stalks and small green leaves a small mouse is dragging itself forward by its front paws; it’s straining and straining, both its rear legs are broken and hang helplessly behind its little body.
The wretchedness has a face, a body and a language. It strikes me regularly and in particular situations, but I am not surprised, I know my adversary.
And the worst thing of all, Ragna, is that you let yourself be exploited, that you bloody well put up with everything.’
sick and tired of your sister, who exploits you and sucks the very life out of you.’
The greasy piece of meat suddenly symbolizes all her inconsiderateness.
Gradually, I make her red secret pale, dull and my own
All the contents are old acquaintances:
Ragna’s dreams of something better and finer,
His whole body says that he cannot do anything, that the problem is not him but with the human scrapheap on the kitchen floor.
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