She had always done better than me, always won the praise and love of our parents. She drained away their love for me, gorging on it in ecstatic delight. As if possessed by her spirit, they left me alone and ignored, like a broken toy thrown under the bed. I held her in the utmost contempt despite the world's love of her. However, pride cometh before a fall, and that "fall" would be of my making.

The plan snuck into my head, like a gossamer spider web, so delicate, so fine, that at first I barely noticed it. But it clung to me, stuck to me, despite my attempts to brush it away. The finely spun silk quickly enveloped my mind like a cocoon, and became the hard metal fetters of a prisoner's bonds. I would avenge the wrongs, gain the upper hand, and forever have her gone from my life. I would quietly, stealthily steal her life away in horrific glee. No matter how I felt, I would only act after my parents' death. I could wait and bide my time until the moment came.

As if in answer to my prayers, they both died together in a car accident. Burnt to death as the fire consumed their tortured bodies. Despite your thoughts, I did nothing to hasten their deaths. It was just fate, or so I liked to think. The funeral took place on Sunday, a holy day. I sat in one of the cheap, metal chairs as they lowered the coffins into the pitch black apertures. In silence, shrouded in black, I watched my parents disappear to a place I would never go. My sister was there as well, and she welcomed me with open arms, tears streaming down her pale, pale face where I could see only Death. A scythe was pointed at her neck, waiting, waiting to cut through her slender neck. He knew, He knew that death was coming for her. People trickled away one by one, until there was only me and her, solely me and her. The Gothic styled tombstones seemed to leer at me, daring me to do the deed. In a wild delirium, I drew my sister to the fresh-dug dirt of my parents' tombs and begged her to sit. She stared at me with a strange look, but I told her that I just wanted to mourn, that was all. She smiled gently, I believe, she thought I was shook up by my parents' deaths which occurred so suddenly, but all that was important was that she did as I told. Death sat behind her, black holes of eyes boring into the back of her skull. I sat as well, unwinding the black scarf from my own neck. I knelt behind her, as if about to pray, and whispered, oh so softly, oh so eloquently, into her ear.

"Pride cometh before a fall, sister dear. And pride is all you've had. I believe your fall has come."

I threw the scarf around her slender neck and pulled it tight. I regretted not being able to see her face as she futilely struggled against the scarf's ruthless grip. Her movements were grotesque, almost puppet-like, jerkily flailing about in the last moments of her life. Then all was still, and I slowly loosened my grip on the scarf. Two fingers felt for a pulse, but there was none. Nothing at all. Death bid me farewell, and retreated back into the depths of His lair into the catacombs of Hades. I lay her empty body between the tombstones of my parents, knowing they would not want to be separated from her.

I walked away, at peace with myself, until I felt the cool touch of metal at my neck. I froze, and turned, knowing that I would find only the black sockets of Death. Running would do no good, He was insuperable, and that metal scythe would be waiting, waiting at my neck, each pulse another second closer to my death.