I was 14. Only 14.
Ever since I was little I felt the ugre. I'm sure you hear stories of how little boys burned ants with magnifying glasses, pulling worms appart, and ripping wings off butterflies. But even doing that I felt like I needed- no had - to have more. Killing petty insects were never enough. Soon enough I upgraded to animals. The feel of a frog in your hands, squeezing it till its eyes popped out and it's body going limp, hot gooey liquid pouring down my adolescent hands.
I was 14.
However, it was only momentarily that it filled- well suppressed- my need to kill more lasting only a couple of days.
Soon enough as was the transition of insects I moved on to squirrels, rats, and even stray cats. The Urge grew intensifying by the second.
I was 14 when it happened. The bastard deserved it. Beating my mother, raping me and my sisters.
I just wanted it to stop. I just needed it to stop. The voices in side my head were chanting, daring, begging me even to but him in his place. And so i did it. I was 14. Only 14.
I was 14 when i killed him.
