My Name Is Alice

Sister.

Katrina. Kitty. Kit-kat. All those dumbass names the kids on the playground give because Katrina is too long.

I liked her name. Special. Not like Alice. There were a thousand Alices, but only one Katrina. She loved that I called her that. Even our parents called her Kitty. Katrina was my name for her; our name for her.

She was always the stronger one though. The nicknames were fine to an extent. Then she would be defensive. That's were I got it from; the head of security. I wanted to be Katrina. Our neighborhood was inner city; tough and ruthless. The girls fought more than the boys. Everyday, someone got smashed into the bathroom stall door or heamedamed a few times by a locker door. And this was middle school.

I wanted to be like Katrina. She always fought in school. It was defense honestly. The girls made fun of her for the genetic red hair and green eyes. "Irish bitch! Irish bitch!," they screamed at her, chanting monotonously. Then they threw the punch. But it never landed.

Nothing hit Katrina.

Her first day of fifth grade, she broke the kid's wrist. No sweat. Quick grab and snap, the hand fell limp. Kid screamed all the way to the principle. Dismissed the incident to the crying child's face.

"You want me to believe that a straight A student like Kitty would....I'm sorry COULD break your wrist? Get to the nurse and get out of my office."

From then on, I wanted to be my sister. She fought like the lightening struck from the sky. Fast, agile, strong, invincable.

But I got the down genes. I had to take classes to learn and even then, I was no good. She'd practice with me. Sparring was a bondiime ime for us. I came up from the basement with the biggest bruises, but my blood was pumped and my heart was racing.

My first fight: I knocked him out. They threw rocks at me from the school bus. I ignored it at first, but then they followed me. A big rock hit my head. I fell, putting my hand to the spot. It bled. It bled badly.

He didn't even see me coming at him. I charged, knocking him to the ground. At first, I slapped. But instinct took over. I drew back and hammered hi har hard as I could in one punch. The blood from his face jumped and splattered across mine. I kept going, pounding him in the chest. By the time Katrina's best friend Marie coudl pull me off, he wasn't moving. Breathing, just not moving.

I felt light headed and Marie carried me home. When I woke up, the doctor was explaining that the blood loss wasn't too bad and that I would heal. My parents were death afraid. Marie said that she found me unconscious on the ground, rocks nearby. I told them I didn't know who threw them.

Liar, my aching head whispered.

After my parents left for work, Katrina came and spent time with me.

She cried, Marie told me.

She cried for the longest time. She was so scared I was going to die from the fight. She blamed herself for not being a better example. She held me, tears running down my hospital gown. She made me promise. If I got in trouble, to run and find her. She didn't want me hurt ever again. I kept that promise to the day I graduated.

Didn't have a fight since.

*******************************************
She was in the city.

Katrina lived and worked in Racoon City.

I closed my eyes, holding Angie closer. Her little snores brought tears to my eyes.

My sister might have been dead....or undead. But the bomb....the nuke.

I thanked god my niece was with her father on business in Paris. Far from here.