Murder could leave a scar on a boy
I was only a young lad of tweleve when I fell in love with the rich texure of blood. Though it didn't really start till it was six months after my birthday.
Let me set a few things straight before I go on. I didn't learn how to kill from my parents. In fact, they never knew and I like to keep it that way. I never taught my little brother Mikey how to kill either. Call me old-fashion or a pussy, but I like to keep him clean. This whole killing merry-go-round was all me.
Now we can go on. It was Halloween night (Yeah, yeah, I know. Typical. Shut the fuck up). I was taking Mikey trick-or-treating in our respectable neighborhood or at least what was considered respectable. We live in a dangerous town and a lot of parents are totally frantic about letting their kids go outside and see a dead body or a murder taking place.
To our amazement, our mother decided to let us trick-or-treat by ourselves this year. We took full advantage of it and decided to go the next block over and continued from there.
I was dressed as a vampire while Mikey was dressed as a swamp monster. The night started out fine. We got a pillow case full of candy each. Everyone was nice. We saw our friends. Perfectly normal.
It wasn't until we decided to go into the playground in our block that we got into trouble. We were sitting on the sit-and-spin, counting our candy. I was busy counting the bags of Skittles, till Mikey tugged my sleeve.
"Gerard, there's a guy watching us," Mikey whispered. His tone was frightened.
I look up and I see a guy, no older than twenty-five, that was indeed staring at us. My first instinct was to grab Mikey and run away. Unfortunately, when I gather the candy back in the bags and grabbed Mikey's hand, the guy stepped into our line of view.
He grabbed Mikey's bag, "Whatja got, mold?"
Mikey tried to grab his bag back, "I'm not mold! I'm a swamp monster!"
The guy shoved Mikey down to the ground, "Yeah? Well, you look like a fag mold to me!"
I help Mikey get up and I yelled at him, "You're the fag, fucker!"(Yes, I started to cuss by this time too) and told Mikey to run to a safe place. Leaving myself with the guy.
Who was obviouisly pissed, "Come here and say it again, motherfucker!"
I started to run because let's be realistic here, tweleve-year-old fighting a twenty-five-year-old? Fucking impossible. I heard him chasing after me.
He kept up with me until we get to the under tunnel bridge in the park and he grabbed my collar. He turned me around and grinned evilly at me, "Okay, you little prick".
He still grips me by my collar and reaches into his pocket. Without even seeing it, I knew it was a knife. My blood ran cold at the silver gleam from the blade.
The guy put it in front of my face, "Let's see if your mom will even recognize you".
He was about to put it on my face, but I acted quickly and bite his hand. He howled in pain and dropped the knife and letting me loose. I tried to run again but I tripped to the ground over something. I look and I saw that it was a broken pipe. The guy was coming at me, arm at stabbing mode.
I can't say what occurred in me to do what I did. It was like a flicker of a word. A word I would grow to know. Kill.
I grab the broken pipe and as he lunged forward to stab me, I shoved to pipe underneath his chin and shoved it until I could see the point coming up through his head. He shook and there was gurgling until he fell on me, dead as a fucking door nail. I managed to pushed him off me and I look at him.
My breathing was erratic. I was staring at the dead body. The body that I killed. And I feel...fine. I'm totally okay with this. In fact, I kinda liked it. So much that I took the knife and stabbed his body. I kept doing repeatedly and laughing like it the greatest joke ever. Finally, I was satified and pushed his body into the river. To get rid of the blood, I licked off the splattered blood off my hands and washed the rest of the splatter off my shirt with the water.
I walk back home and I saw my parents and my brother waiting for me. They rushed over to me and hugged me and said how worried they were. I didn't utter a word. I couldn't dare to tell them that I found a new and interesting hobby.
Killing and blood.
That's the moral of my story. That's it. Go on and rave about it, kids.