It is the middle of the night, and once again I lay here in bed, awake, thinking of her. Once again she consumes my mind. I cannot rest. I cannot get away. She may be miles away, but still I feel her presence. It is like she is always with me. Like she never leaves.

I remember that day, so long ago. I was just five, too young to know any better. She was older than me by four years, and considered herself grown up, and called me “the baby,” a name I grew to loathe. I was in the grass, playing with a plastic truck. She was in the driveway, bouncing a basketball moodily, angry that mother had made her watch me instead of riding bikes with friends.

When I saw the movement in the grass, I was irresistibly drawn to it. I walked to the creature and reached out my hand, crying, “Sissy, look!” She was close enough to see exactly what it was. If I had looked up, I would have seen her eyes grow large with horror, and her face grow pale under her tan. She screamed, “Rodney, no!”

Everything after that went quickly. I looked up when Judy screamed, and saw her throw the basketball with all her might. The blur of orange was well thrown. It squashed the rattlesnake’s head right into the ground.

She saved my life.

I should be grateful. But instead I lay her at night, thinking of her. Hating her.

I finally fall asleep and wake up just four short hours later to the sound of beeping. My alarm clock says 6:30. I turn it off with an impatient push and wearily climb out of bed. This tiredness is her fault. If only she would leave my mind!

I get into the shower. The water is too hot and turns my skin red. But I do not notice. My thoughts continually center around her.

I think back to her thirteenth birthday party. She, the extrovert, was the center of attention. I, the introvert, sat in the corner and watched. I heard one of her friends ask about “The Snake Day,” as Judy called it. Judy laughed. “Yeah, it was exciting. Of course I wasn’t scared. Now the baby has nightmares about snakes. He can’t even stand pictures of them. Silly, isn’t he?”

I stood up, trembling with anger. How dare she tell my secrets too all of those strangers! And why must they bring up the snake story again? I had heard it a thousand times before. Judy was a local hero because of it; she’d even gotten her picture in the paper. The article was framed, and hung next to the shelf that held her sports trophies. Someone else’s parents might have been extra nice to the child that had been endangered. But mine were the type to make a hero out of the other, instead.

I come out of the shower and get dressed, taking no notice of what I am putting on. I grab a banana or a piece of toast for breakfast; all is routine, and I hardly notice what I am doing, she so consumes my thoughts. I walk outside my small apartment to the bus stop and wait.

Her high school prom comes to mind. Everyone said she looked beautiful that day, with her fluffy pink dress and her hair swept off her shoulders. Her boyfriend was the captain of the football team; it was no surprise to anyone that they were crowned king and queen of the evening.

My sister was perfect. She had good grades, she was popular and charming, she was athletic but still feminine. Everyone loved her.

And then there was me. I was short and skinny and pale. My eyes were weak, so I wore thick glasses. I never got good grades, for I couldn’t care less about school. I was never good at sports, and I had hardly any friends.

I know that, in her own way, my sister pitied me and tried to push me to be more like her. But whenever she wanted something from me, she reminded me of the Snake Day. More often than not, I felt like her own personal slave. And I resented and hated her, even for her pity.

The bus comes, and I pay the fare and find a seat. I look out the window, but see little of the scenery. It is a short ride to my stop. I get off, and enter the factory.

I see my graduation day. My sister came, she was in college, studying to be a lawyer. College became her; she shone brighter than ever. It was a day that should have been about me, but somehow she made it about her.

I see the day I was failed my classes at college. Judy was already in graduate school. My mother cried, and my father just looked disappointed. My sister only shook her head in amazement. She went on to become a successful lawyer.

And I see myself now, years later, a failure, stuck working in a factory. And it is all her fault, for thoughts of her will not leave my mind.

I must get rid of her presence her, somehow. An idea comes to me, unbidden, yet inviting. I shove it away; it is wicked. But again it accosts me, dancing before my eyes. Finally, after days of resistance and bombardment, I accept it, if only for peace of mind.

One day later, I walk into Judy’s office building. The secretary looks at me quizzically; she has never seen me before, and undoubtedly Judy does not leave pictures of the black sheep lying around.

“I’m here to see Ms. Stone. Tell her it’s her brother.”

The secretary pushes the intercom button. “A man who says he is your brother is here, Ms. Stone. Should I send him in?”

‘”Wait a moment while I check the video camera.” A long pause, then a sigh came over the system. “Yes, that’s my brother. Send him in.”

“You may go in now.” I only half heard the secretary’s words; I felt like I was in a dream. I walk through the office door slowly, but with purpose. And I smile, for soon Judy will never bother me again.

“Rodney.” Her voice is neither warm nor happy. “What are you doing here?”

“I just came to see you. Since when do lawyer’s offices have video cameras?”

“It’s just a security precaution. There are a lot of people who hate me.”

Again I smile. “You have no idea.” Judy looks puzzled; I lay my briefcase on her desk and unlock it. For a moment I stand and look at it. My means of escape, it is more beautiful than any sunset. I borrowed it from a coworker whose favorite pastime was shooting squirrels off trees. Why he used a handgun for this I do not know, but it suited my purpose. When I asked if I could borrow it and some ammunition to try the sport myself within the next week, he gladly accommodated me. He is a good man; he asked if I had a license. Of course, I had to lie and say yes, I had a license, but I had to pawn my gun because of financial trouble.

I pick up the gun that I had loaded the night before. I look at Judy and see the familiar look of horror on her face. She screams. I laugh as I point the gun at her head. And I pull the trigger.

Exactly what happened after that I cannot say. The next thing I remember is sitting in a jail cell after an interrogation with the police. Yes, I killed Judy Stone. No, it was not my own gun. Yes, I deliberately murdered her. The policemen stare at me strangely. I just laugh inwardly, thinking of the coming years with no thought invasions. Peace of mind was my motive.

But tonight, in my cell, I am disturbed again. The office, the gun, Judy’s scream, they all swirl through my mind. The memory comes again and again, stronger and sharper each time. I sit for what feels like hours, until it is more than I can stand. Then I stand, holding my head between my hands, shouting at the memory. But still it will not leave.

And I realize I have doomed myself. The rest of my life will be spent locked in a cell, thinking of her. And I hate her more than ever.