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When I was seven, my older sister Mila (who was ten at the time) took me to the quarry. She promised she would teach me to swim.

So, she pushed my head under the water and held me there until I was kicking and thrashing. Then, when I resurfaced, she pushed me far into the water and left me there at the quarry.

All little girls need to know how to fend for themselves, she said.

Years later, some big kid was picking on me. I told Mila and she said that if he did it again, all I had to do was scream 'fuck you' as loud as I could over and over until he stopped. Of course I didn't do it, but he bumped into me in the hallway one day and when he was walking away, I shoved him as hard as I could and watched him fall into a bunch of kids before running off. He didn't even know it was me.

That was the one time Mila and I bonded.

But that doesn't matter now, because Mila is dead. A freak accident, they said. Yeah right. A freak accident is when you're climbing on a ladder and you fall and break your neck.

Mila was walking home from school and something bit her arms off. Needless to say, she was cremated. Mom and Dad were devastated and yeah, I guess I was sad for a little bit but I honestly don't care anymore.

Mila was borderline psychopathic.

Normal kids don't try to kill their little sisters, I can tell you that much.

And we all pretended that she didn't kill our family cat. Poor fucking Mittens didn't even see it coming. Dad told me it was an eagle that killed Mittens. We both knew the truth.

I'm not saying I'm glad Mila's dead, I'm just saying she had it coming to her. You can only kill so much before it comes full circle right back to you.

Too bad she couldn't even take her own advice.

After all, all little girls need to know how to fend for themselves.

Pure • Stanley Uris Where stories live. Discover now