I wrote this for an essay for my English class. Hope you enjoy.
My sister and I were standing in the gloomy cold shade of the gray concrete porch. The sky was the normal Colorado light blue and the tree that stood in the middle of our front yard was casting its protective shadow over the nearly empty flower bed and the metal bird feeder. I vividly remember the bush that had stiff, prickly brown branches and dark green leathery leaves that stood next to us. I was wearing my favorite shirt at the time, a pink and purple tie-dye made of a cheap velvet-like material.
I had no idea of the horrible thing that was about to happen. It was supposed to be a normal summer day in our suburb. My sister and I could have walked down to the park that afternoon where mean teenagers would squish grapes on the slides so no one could go down them, or we could have gone inside and watched a movie, or played outside in the back yard where the sun was. I only remember turning and looking down at the cold ground and seeing a long, thin, slimy, dark brown earthworm.
Maybe I knew that by squealing I was provoking this horrific event to take place, but my first reaction was not to think of what my sister might dare to do. It was only to shriek and scream at the ugly disgusting thing. It only took seconds for my sister to reach down and, using her index finger and thumb, pick up the natural freak. By now she was grinning in delight and I was shrinking back, utterly shocked at what was happening. She then had the nerve to not only pick up this worm, but to move towards me and then proceeded to place the thing on my shoulder. I jumped away, but it was too late and my jerk reaction caused the worm to go down my shirt. She should have known how I felt about worms and their creepy, wriggling bodies, how much I detested and feared every bit of their anatomy from the lines on their slick brown bodies to how crazy long they were. I was horrified and shocked.
There was no time to waste. I ran inside the house, passing through the dark first room and the huge wooden roll-top-desk, past the stairs with the beautiful dark wood railing and into the small kitchen to my mother. Crying, practically in hysterics, I told my mom what my sister had done. She took me to the bathroom where she found the worm and promptly flushed it down the toilet. I could not even watch it swirl down in the clear water of the white porcelain bowl. This unceremonious death was not enough. I had to get the slime off of me. My mom asked if I wanted to take a shower and I simply nodded, my throat sore from all the crying.
While I was cleansing myself of the slim that I still find so offensive, my sister was in the living room, receiving lectures from my parents and my grandpa. She clearly was not punished enough. If you were to bring this subject up to her now, she would still give you a loud, joyous laugh in response and say, “Yes, that was so great!”. I’m not sure how I ever forgave her, I certainly don’t remember forgiving her, maybe I just decided it wasn’t worth it to hold it over her head forever. More likely, I realized I wouldn’t be able to get her back.