To this day, I am traumatized by the notion I could have killed my little brother. Six years younger, we had an age difference primed to maximize annoyance, his constant nagging the spark for my first foray with untethered fury.
The day he carelessly ripped a hole through the plastic pool I waited years to get was the final straw, and I hit him in the head with the biggest — and heaviest — branch I could find.
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