I'm six and she's five...and throwing a tantrum of epic proportions.
We might be fighting, but it's been nearly two decades since then, so I can't remember exactly what lead up to my Sister having a shit with me. All I remember is that I'm holding her Beauty and the Beast Golden Book in my hands (the ones with the hard cardboard binding) and she demands that I return 'her' book even though at this age, we're stuck sharing everything together. And so I do... a la Sailor-Moon-Tiara style, hurling the book like a violent projectile-frisbee until it smacks my Sister dead-on her right eye. There's crying, a fair amount of blood, and she ends up spending the next week or so with an eye-patch and fending off questions as to whether or not she's being abused at home. In effect, it was possibly the first of many domestic disputes to curse our relationship for the next dozen years until I finally move out.
The scar permeates even after exchanging hugs and "I love you"s becomes a daily occurrence...a testament to how far a relationship can come from spending everyday trying to kill each other to trying not to cry when you send her away with her husband.
