Two flash fictions

Today's flash fiction writing started with us discussing the situation in the U.S. I'm an ex-American, my writing mate spent 20+ years. Although both of us feel somewhat like internationals rather than totally tied to the color of our passports our hearts are a mishmash of the cultures and values of more than one country. We laugh when things are funny, celebrate when they are wonderful and cry when there's tragedy. 

We were weighed down by events making it harder to write. Still after the two exercises we felt better, although were not as pleased with our work.

The prompt for our flash fiction is the first line of each story and in italics.

Someone did better than her. Always.

Not someone. Her. Anne. The bitch.

Anne had been Sally's enemy since kindergarten when Anne's drawing was featured at a PTA meeting over Sally's. 

Throughout school, no matter how many As Sally got, Anne received one more. Anne was the soloist in the kids' church choir, although Sally admitted Anne had the better voice.

It was a draw on who was prettier. It depended if a person preferred Anne's red hair, to Sally's black that set off her Irish blue Elizabeth Taylor eyes.

They went to separate universities: Anne to Harvard, Sally to UMass Boston.

Their mothers bragged about their daughters being on the dean's list when they happened to bump into each other at the supermarket.

Sally wanted to be a lawyer. She passed the bar the first time. She married another lawyer, had a son and daughter. Overall it was a happy family. She was content with her life and almost never thought tof Anne.

At the last minute Sally decided to go to her high school reunion rather than blow it off. When she didn't see Anne she was half relieved. She thought Anne probably had become a leading doctor with books and prizes.

Another friend mentioned Anne. "She dropped out of med school. I've heard she's living in Alabama and is on her third marriage. Works at Walmart."

Sally smiled. She'd done better than her.

"Sorry to intrude," she said. She wasn't sorry at all. 

She'd been waiting outside the door to intrude at the worse possible moment as her sisters were in the middle of planning a trip which would exclude her.

"No problem," Irene said. Her expression said otherwise.

"I was about to get tea anyway. Want some?" Beth gathered the travel brochures as she talked, slipping them into her backpack.

Mary had never understood why her two older sisters never included her in anything. Why they kept everything a secret. Even when they had become pregnant, Mary found out from neighbors. She'd knitted beautiful sweaters and booties for the babies. They were never used. She had always been afraid to probe the reasons.

Something snapped. "I've had it. Why do you hate me?"

Irene and Beth exchanged looks. "Should we tell her?" Beth asked.

"Dad should have told her years ago?" Irene said. "Before he died."

"Tell me what?"

Beth drew a deep breath. "You aren't our full sister. Dad had a mistress and he brought you, that woman's baby, home and presented you to mummy. Mummy was so upset she killed herself."