My First

I remember the first time I killed someone.

I was thirteen years old, but even then I knew I was different. And more than that, people around me knew. Some people sense the difference and stay away. Some, not understanding they are feeling a kinship, mistake the difference for weakness and try to take advantage of you. I was small for my age, so at first these people were successful.

At first.

This one redneck fuck caught me in the locker room after gym. Just as I was small for my age, he was big, although most of it was fat. Usually his daily tortures were more along the lines of half-witted mockery or the occassional wedgie. But today he felt daring.

His name was Dean. Such a promising name for an inbred mountain stain with a fledgling taste for sodomy. He held me down over a locker room bench nestled in a corner, and with a mixture of violence and urgency he fumbled his way inside me. It didn't last long, as there just wasn't that kind of time for anything of length (no pun intended), and I gritted my teeth and didn't give him the satisfaction of tears. It wasn't the first time I had been abused, after all. Just the first time in a locker room.

He laughed as he left me there to clean myself up. I hope he enjoyed it. I got my turn later that night.

The stupid bastard never saw me coming. He even slept with his window open. While his crack whore mom was out doing God knew what, and no one else in the house, I had no trouble getting Dean tied to his bed before he woke up. Rope and duct tape are wonderful things. When I was sure we wouldn't be interrupted, and I had my gloves on and a tarp from the garage over the floor, I went to work on him. I used a fillet knife for most of the work, experiments, really. Seeing what made him squirm the most. But when I really needed to do some serious cutting, I had a large hunting knife from Wal-Mart. He lasted longer than I expected. Long enough to see some of his own goodies dangled in front of his face.

No one was able to pin anything on me. It helped that there was a "mysterious fire" at Dean's house. I'm sure there was some concern over the condition of Dean's body, even as burned as it was. But no one lobbyed for white trash, and the matter dropped. No one even considered me, as far as I know. But there were rumors at school. "It's bad luck to fuck with that kid," that kind of thing. It never reached the adults, and we didn't have Facebook in those days, so whatever people may have suspected, it was nowhere near as bad as the truth.

Ain't it always that way? lol