For as long as I can remember, my sister has been trying to kill me. Maybe it wasn't exactly a conscious choice on her part, but she did her best. It probably started in the crib...oh wait, that's right. She's a year younger than me. So it should have been me trying to kill her in the crib. I never was taught the proper protocol regarding the killing of one's sibling. Sigh.
Back when I was four or so we were chasing each other around the outside of the house when she tripped me by the front steps of the house. I say "tripped", but it could easily have been sheer clumsiness on my part. For the sake of the "sister who wants to kill her brother" story let's just stick with "tripped". Anyhow, I fell onto the concrete steps of the front porch. Right on my teeth. Yeah...that had to hurt. I lost the front four teeth on my upper jaw that day and basically looked like this until my adult teeth grew in a few years afterwards. Thanks!
And that was just one incident. In High School she started break dancing! OK, that one did me no physical harm, but a large part of my soul died that day. There are others, but I was inspired to write this after reading Anna's tale of getting burned the other day. My tale, involving my sister of course, went a little like this:
It happened when I was around four. Again. I'm not sure if I was sporting the jack-o-lantern look yet, but it was around the same time period. We were roasting marshmallows while camping at a place called Timothy Lake in Maine (I think) when my sister decided that the best way to extinguish her burning marshmallow was to wave it around. You know, shaking it like a Polaroid picture.
This, of course, only fanned the flame and agitated the 'mallow until it flew off her stick and onto my bare arm where it attacked me like molten lava.
I ran around, waving my arm (further fanning the flames, I'm sure) until the nearest adult got there and, um, put me out I guess. I don't really remember the pain, but I do remember the bandaging and application of ointments for the next couple of months.
I was very young so I made a full recovery. Well, almost. If you look closely at my right arm you can still see some scar tissue, and I have noticeably fewer freckles on that arm. But I'm positive that this, along with the knocking out my teeth and break dancing, was just another incident in which she was planning my demise.
Sisters are evil.
I have four of them.