Sissy...

One of the main reasons I probably disliked my little Sister for all those years was because I saw her as the main rival for our Mother's affection. I guess you could say I was nastiest to her out of everybody, a fact that I'm not particularly proud of, because even though she annoyed the shit out of Me, she was actually quite a nice little kid, with short blond curls, a strawberry-shaped birthmark on her shoulder, and a permanently dreamy look in her eyes.

She wanted to tag along with Us everywhere we went, but the thing is, if she wants to come then the chances are that None of us will be able to go anywhere either, because She was too little to go anywhere exciting.

She's not allowed to come with us when we go across the road to the old Fort, for example, where we hide and play games amongst the rubble and broken beer bottles in the piss-reeking stone ruins. Someone has written, inside on the wall, funny rude poems. We wonder who wrote these poems- if it was kids like Us, or maybe if it had been the soliders who had hidden down here during the War who had done it- the ones who had dug these tunnels all the way through to the cliff-face on the other side of the Headland, the tunnels we follow with tall white candles that were lit by stolen matches...

At least if She reads this she'll know now what she missed out on.

I suppose that's one of the reasons why She never really learned how to ride a horse, because she was too little to come along with my other Sister and I up to where we kept the horses- though she did come that one time that I bet the English Bitch fifty cents that my little Sister would never be able to control my horse up the Galloping Track. Of course, I was right- the horse took off on her, just like she did on Me every other afternoon, but at least I had the benefit of being older and had a bit of riding experience, unlike her.

It was pretty mean and dangerous of me to have even let her try- but She managed to stay on somehow, and as she galloped off out of my view I see them both jumping over a small log and my Sister almost gets thrown off- both her hands are somewhere up under her chin, almost like She's praying or begging for a bone- the reins were totally useless.

I know this is all my doing, and if the horse runs straight across the highway and my Sister gets killed I'll never forgive Myself- but the horse just runs back to the same spot where she gets her saddle off every afternoon and comes to a dead stop- my Sister still in the saddle.

Everything is alright again. My Sister isn't left, mangled, beneath the wheels of a Semi-trailer. There are no broken bones to explain.

This time.

Crisis Averted. Thanks for the fifty cents.

Bitch.