I told my bigger little sister about this charming little journal I've been keeping. I told her how I wrote of our S.W.A.T. experiences, and she was rather disappointed to learn that I had shared THAT, but not her other (more frightening, for reasons you'll soon understand) near death experience:
Yeah, this one time, I tried to kill her.
Well, maybe KILLING was not my ultimate goal - I really can't remember - but I sure choked the shit out of her.
Growing up, we had one of those small (I think they're called "training") trampolines in our family room. You know, the ones that sit about a foot off the ground and are designed to accomodate one person. Since we were small children two of us could actually fit, albeit not well, so our mother made a rule which stated that only one child was permitted to jump at any given time.
One day, I was jumping on said trampoline, when Danielle came over and formed the waiting line. Apparently, I was not tying things up as quickly as she would have liked, so she she decided that a little torment was in order. She started jumping up onto the tramp, each jump ending with a nice little shove and some kind words from yours truly. Following each shove, which resulted in her landing back on the ground - where she belonged - she'd come back for more.
As you might imagine, this shit was pissing me off. I can't be sure how old I was, I think about six (which would put her at four), but this was waaaay back when I was still taller and heavier than she. So, I decided to put my size to use. The next time Danielle flung her scrawny behind onto MY TRAMPOLINE, I pinned her down on top of it, straddled her, and began choking her. Both hands were placed firmly around her delicate little neck.
It ought to go without saying that she didn't enjoy this.
I don't know how long it lasted, but it seemed like I was engaging in this murderous behavior for a good while. Her body was convulsing beneath me and I remember finally realizing - due to the pleading look in her eyes - that I was seriously hurting her. But I kept on, I was overcome with rage. Finally, our mother took notice of what was occuring, started yelling, and yanked me off of Danielle.
I'm pretty sure that, once the color returned to her face and oxygen was restored to her lungs, she began crying.
Later that day, in the privacy of my bedroom, I began to comprehend just how badly I had hurt and petrified her, and when I realized the finality I was foolishly headed toward, I cried too.
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