I was about 5.
I was playing at the public playground when I see my older sister standing completely inert with her back towards me, her head hung in sadness. Naturally, I walk over to see what’s wrong. I’m calling her name loudly, so she turns around. Her face is emotionless: her lips, her nose, her eyes – her eyes, they were large and round with a layer of cantaloupe seeds layered on top. Panic seized through me, I ran to her and resumed screaming her name, this time in terror as I frantically scratched the seeds off her eyes with my shaking hands.
It’s been a few terrifying seconds before I notice that her eye sockets are hollow, and she starts screaming. I’m sobbing uncontrollably now with cantaloupe seeds hanging off my inept hands when my father comes along, takes in the situation at a glance and ,running through the bloodcurdling cries and sobs, clutches my sister in a tight embrace. Then he was gone.
The next morning I told my sister about it. She replied with “Stop stealing my dreams. I had that 1”