7-10 Skull Splitter

I remember when my sister came home. My parents didn’t seem to notice the everlasting change morphing the household, but I do. I remember that they no longer interrupted my sleep, no longer interfering with my dreams. I was always a quiet child, never giving them reason to assert their authority over me. Yet, two years later, there she was, crawling into the midst of the hallway, the young tiny treasure that eclipsed the older large ruin.

Her chubby hands emphatically slapped the worn wooden floor as if she was trying to launch herself into sprint with every progressing crawl, and there I stood, looking at her thirstily absorb her surroundings while I cupped dad’s bowling ball with both of my arms without anyone aware of my intentions, not even myself; I just knew that one object was heavier than the other.