We were in fifth grade. I was hanging out with my best friend. It was recess time and a pretty pleasant day, so we were just walking around and talking, as we normally did. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

My twin sister came over to hang out, which wasn’t unusual. She did sometimes when her own friends were being boring or if there was too much drama (which, with her friends, wasn’t uncommon). The three of us were joking around, teasing, laughing, and having a pretty good time. That when I made a horrible mistake.
My sister has this hat, a thing she cherishes. She’s had it since we were born and it just keeps stretching to fit her head. She wears it all of time, whether it’s 100 degrees or negative 20. I used to like to steal it occasionally because it made her go ballistic. I thought this was funny and I always gave it back afterward. It was a joke. In hindsight, this probably wasn’t a very nice joke, but I never ever meant any real harm by it.

That’s what I did on this day. My hand reached over and plucked the hat off her head and my feet darted away. My mouth was laughing. My mind was giggling.

That’s when she transformed. I don’t know why. I doubt I will ever know why. She snarled at me and chased me. I just ran faster, still laughing. It was a game! But after a few seconds, I turned around, to see if she was still following. That’s when I realized that this was no joke. Something in her had snapped.

I tossed the hat back at her hesitantly and she snatched it up with the velocity of a shark. But she had no intention a backing down.

I don’t think she was thinking coherently. She was blinded by rage and passion. She tackled me like a lion tackles a gazelle. Then she started punching and clawing at me. She ripped my skin with her fingernails and punched my gut with her fist. I trembled in fear, but I still fought back. This wasn’t the first time we’d wrestled, after all. I squirmed out of her grip and tried to dart away, but she just jumped on me again, clawing and kicking the life out of me. I was terrified.

But that wasn’t even the scariest part.

The scariest part is when I looked up at her face. I swear there was no human left inside her. Her blonde curls were as tangled and knotted as lion’s mane, the ends fluttering in the breeze. Her face, normally happy and smiling, was bright red with anger. Saliva dripped from one corner of her mouth like a dog. And all intelligence had left her normally beautiful, green eyes. Her pupils were dilated with exhilaration and rage. There was no familial love for me in those eyes. Never. There was only an animal-like hatred and a desire to maim and kill.
She could have badly injured me or worse that day. I think she would have if the teachers hadn’t called for the end of recess. During her momentary lapse of concentration, I could squirm out of her iron grip and run away. I sprinted all the way back to my classroom and leaned up against a wall, breathing heavy. She could not get me there. I was safe. Safe.

My breathing came out in short, loud bursts. My heart pounded in my head like a thousand drums. Tears stung my eyes and sweat trickled down my forehead.  My hands were shaking so horribly; it could have been the effect of an earthquake. I was a gazelle that had barely escaped the jaws of the lion and my primal, survival instincts had been kicked into high gear.

I don’t remember the rest of the day. I don’t remember where my best friend was during the attack. I don’t remember seeing my sister directly afterward.  I don’t know if my memory is even accurate.

But I do know I have never spoken a word about it to anybody and I have never heard a word about it from her.
I never got an explanation. I never got an apology. I sometimes wonder whether she even remembers the encounter. But I know I always will.

I will always remember that as the day my sister attacked and showed no mercy. I will always remember that as the day she stopped loving me.