When my sister first came along, my parents were like "Jen, you have an adorable little sister." But one look at her fat little body with a fat little head on top with no neck, waving her tiny fists told me all I needed to know.
Now Little Lizzy was considerably taller than my five foot 4, but I still hated her. Her and her tanned skin and dark straight hair with deep-set hazel eyes and a cheeky grin that would turn even the hardest, toughest boy to mush Her grown-out fringe hides her from her piercing gaze, she was thirteen, but I've been alive longer than her.
We had a hateful love; with bin bags of tension, like that time I opened my book and discovered someone had written 'Jen loves Chase' in large, pink Sharpie pen. Or the time I walked in my room and caught her red-handed rummaging through my wardrobe for some clothes, wearing my underwear. Man, I hated her.
Or when mum was hoovering the stairs, Liz came tearing in my room while I was styling my thick, curly, chestnut hair, and dived under my duvet, scattering my flamboyant clothes and knocking my trilby from the peg. My gaze was confused, green eyes fixed on the quivering lump on my bed. The thunderous noise stopped, and her head emerged, hair a haystack, her voice wavered, "Is it over yet?" I laughed; my voice had an evil edge to it.
Another memory was when I was watching TV, the glow making my pale skin different shades, and she came in, wrapped in a blanket, declaring her room too cold, and, without waiting for a reply, shoved me over and helped herself to my covers.
I realised, if the worst came to the worst, I would miss my sister. Her words of not-wisdom, even her painful blows, tantrums, and her grin where she went cross-eyed and tilted her head. I'd even miss her tone deaf voice when she sang Anastacia's 'Left Outside Alone'.
Three years later, and on top of a roof, I caught a glimpse of a person about to jump as I finished running up the stairs.
I know it's a cliche, but I had to yell it anyway.
"Don't do it!" I sprinted towards the person.
It shocked me when Liz's voice came floating back, it sounded like she'd been crying. "Why should I? Nick's left me, everyone hates me, there's nothing left to live for."
Her words stabbed me as much as any knife would, I didn't know what to say.
"I know you like me, we can be together." She grabbed me and held me close, we were so near the edge now. "We'll be together forever, in Heaven, Jen, we both want that." She was talking like the older of us, her foot inched towards the edge. She pulled me with her, but I forced myself to draw back, simultaneously reaching for my phone. I dialled for the ambulance while pulling Liz backwards, to me, the phone didn't work.
Liz pulled herself free of my grip, but she ran out of ledge. She fell backwards, like a skydiver free-falling the wrong way round, then time sped up and the ground rushed up to meet her. My phone rang.
Liz was on the other end, "You've got a good view, does my make-up look okay?"
The ambulance must have a tracking system, but they were too late. I ran down the stairs as they were wheeling a stretcher away, a body bag lay on it.
At the morgue, they told me she'd been on drugs, I was horrified that she'd been treating her body like any one would treat a dump.
I kept waiting for either myself to wake up from the nightmare my life had become, or for someone to yell 'gotcha' from behind the bushes. She was only sixteen.
The funereal was a quiet affair, only family members, and Nick, Liz's ex boyfriend, attended.
When it was my turn to say my piece, I had to take a few deep breaths to calm my nerves.
"Liz was a good sister, and now she's gone, there's a hole in the world. I'm sure we'll all miss her pranks, her unique style, her witty comments. I know I'll miss her."
As I sat down, I remembered her last words, though I can't recall why.
Outside, as we were leaving, I saw Liz perched on a gravestone, she caught me staring and winked. "Heaven," she sang, "is great." I blinked, she'd disappeared.
I still remember that baby with the fat little body with a fat little head on top with no neck, waving her tiny fists.