Not Till Theyre Gone

 

 The girl invaded our home on March 1, 2006. She came armed with bombs that screamed and bullets fashioned from bitter tears. I fought against this unwelcome intrusion with 7 years worth of might packed behind fists.

 

I never asked for this, I hissed at my mother. I dont understand why I need a sister.

 

You will when youre grown, Elodie, she said. I didnt listen.

 

She was given a title -- Ellie, after Unhappy Big Sister. The girl grew up pretty, like her name.

 

You look just like your sister, people said, and shed grin like a madman. For my part, I tried to hide the stubborn smile that would creep up my face. It made us both happy, even though we looked nothing alike, except for perhaps our dark brown hair and eyes.  Then the words began. The ones that attacked the glowing sand dunes of her face and left them dry and weeping. They stuck to her body until there was nothing else to strip away, and when her solitary fast finally ended, our house was home to 3 once more.  That was the day girl became sister. Ellie never really did have to grow up for me to understand why, despite my hate, I loved her.

 

Ergene Kim