A Second Point of View
Date Thursday, March 28, 2024 - 06:28 AM PST
Topic Experiences


I was always jealous of my sister Alice. Even at an age as young as twelve. I couldn’t stand seeing the baby get all of the attention. I came out first, so why shouldn’t I be first in line? I did the majority of the chores; I respected my parents more, and I was never out of line. Because of it, Mother liked me best. But I was never able to harvest anything for myself out of that relationship.
When I was much younger, Daddy came home with an open invitation to the county fair. The whole lot of us glowed like corn pops, but that faded at the discovery singularity of this invitation. Instantly, we grew shifty-eyed. Who would dare ask Daddy for their attendance? Sure, they would enjoy the fair, but only to come home to many, many disappointed and generally ticked-off faces. Then again, he might even disregard those who asked, even scold them. All of these thoughts were crossing my mind, running back and forth as fiercely as a Molotov cocktail fight. Then the fight stopped. Sweet little Alice had stopped the battle with “Take me Daddy; I’m the prettiest”. None of us were at any stage of our lives where the sheer sub ordinance of that naivety could be comprehensible. I didn’t forget it. None of us could.

I may have been making a big deal out of something generally jeerable to most folk, but we weren’t like most folk. A fair, that was unmatchable for our family. Hell, for entertainment, I actually used to push a wheel with a stick. That’s why I did what I did to her when I was nearing my preteens.
Mommy and Daddy had given us boys BB guns as presents. They later proved to be much needed additions to our usual game of cowboys and Indians. And now, since we had the guns, little Alice was demoted to Indian. Hearing our decision, she lashed out with (age has changed the exactness of the words, but please bear with) “I guess it’s better that I’m the Indian, since Daddy wouldn’t save you if you were one”. She drew her slur upon me, so I drew my weapon on her. As she looked away, the air around me grew silent and time seemed to slow. I saw her stumble just as a flash of red sprayed form her face. Her scream brought me back. I lowered my barrel, still in awe of what I had just done.

She no longer sees out of that eye. She even has a discoloration. Much like a blue mercury. Despite the beauty of that one eye, I continually regret this only more each time I see it.


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