We were always taught that by the time we reached 15 we should have at least one murder under our belts. Preferably a family member because if we could kill someone we love, we could kill anyone. And even more preferably a sibling because that bond is the thickest & any bond that tight is dangerous.
You will never know what is in someone else's mind. You will never know what is in their heart. Your sibling, when handed your birthday knife, could just kill you. Why wouldn't they? Then they would receive the blessing instead of you. So you need to kill them first. That is what I was always taught.
Except it's one hour before my 15th birthday. I'm standing over my sister Hazel's bed watching the rise & fall of her chest. Her face is so peaceful, so serene that I find myself questioning the teaching. Her designated color is red. I love red. It distracts my mind & holds my interest. I can't get enough red. So what would I do if Hazel were gone? No sister. No red. But maybe that is selfish.
Maybe the blessing is too much for someone so young as Hazel to have to handle. What if she were actually better off dead? I consider that because I would rather be dead than be 15 in one hour. Accepting the blessing.
I raise my knife & see her warm breath condense on the blade.
Murder is supposed to trigger all sorts of delicious hormones. I was always told that murder was ecstasy. Murder as many as you can. The ultimate thrill & way better than intimate relations with the opposite (or same) sex. I am one second away from the best sensation of my life.
And I pause.
Hazel's eyes open. Pale blue in the darkness. She can sense me. I know it. She feels me in the dark, knows I could be there to kill her. I should be there to kill her.
"Morning, Jenna. May you never reach the dusk."
It's the typical 15th birthday greeting from a younger sibling.
The question is: Am I an older sibling, trained to assassinate my family or am I there to accept the blessing?
Your guess is as good as mine.