Hunting sisters, I've got one in my sights!

When I was somewhere between 11-13 years old Jeff got a B.B. gun that we took to the cabin and did a lot of target shooting with. It was our little introduction to mindless violence. One day I was doing my thing, goofing off by the garage that houses the 4-wheeler and fishing boat, when my arm started stinging really bad. I looked down and saw a nice B.B. sized welt on my upper left bicep, and there was Jeff looking at me in horror. He told me the gun went off while he was trying to cock it. I believed him and didn't tell my parents because, well I'm not sure why I never told them. I was known far and wide as an amazingly gifted tattle-tale. Anyway, years later, like 15 years later, Jeff and I were talking about that day and my not-so-little anymore, pip-squeak brother told me it hadn't been an accident after all. He SHOT me on purpose because he was mad at me for some unknown and of course, unjustified reason. We were at my parent's house when this conversation was taking place and needless to say, I tattle-taled on him on the spot and he didn't even get grounded. There is no justice in this cruel world.