I watched her as she ate, her fingers working steadily, plate to mouth, plate to mouth. Specks of spit flow on to her hands and I shuddered in disgust, slightly. How could she do this? Didn’t she know other people were watching?
How could she eat like that with someone else watching?
I looked away and ate the last of my bread. Stood up and took my plate to the sink.
I picked up the frying pan to soak it in the sink when she said, “Fry me another piece, please?”
Later, as I told the judge, the rage that consumed me was sudden, shocking and a little surprising.
I just stood there, my forearms itching suddenly, the blood there as if armed with knives.
I swung at her head. Her fat, disgusting head. And swung from the other side, after she screamed and clutched her head.
She slumped forward and I swung the pan from the top this time. With so much force.
“Here’s. Another. Piece. You. Fat. Disgusting. Bitch.” Thump. Thump. Slam. Thump. Thump.
I hit her fat, heavy head for all I could and then some. And then I soaked the pan, cleaned up the kitchen and put on a clean shirt and pants and walked out of the house, to the police station.
I explained everything, time and time over. About the only time I didn’t know what to say, was when the judge turned to me, pushing up his glasses and said, “But my dear, she was your twin sister. Your exact double. If she disgusted you so much, how do you live with yourself?”