It started when I was still just a cute little boy. Back then I already knew I was different. Unlike some normal kids who enjoyed playing with toys; I grew up slightly uncommon, I was not fond of what the kids were doing and had no interest in toys. I could say I was special-a little bit insane, a little bit hot blooded.
My first misconduct at that time- ahh I could still remember it like the back of my head. I was only seven then, still so young and so reckless. My parents gave me this dog to play with, it was black and was just the right size for a perfect companion for a lonely child who was always left with the caretaker.
I named that dog Charlotta similar to what my caretaker was called. She was a fat woman, had curly hair and tanned skin. Later, I knew she was of a different race- Mexican. No wonder she did not look the same as us. Anyway enough about her, my dog was really an obedient pet, it would stick around wherever I would go, they say a dog is a man's best friend-that was true. Taking care of Charlotta was easy, it was not that rowdy and simply followed to what I tell it to do but sometimes I would grow bored of it.
The incident happened casually, it was a sunny day and I was reading my book in my room when suddenly Charlotta ran into my room with its muddy paws probably from playing with the sprinklers again. I remember that I did not feel or say anything at that moment telling my dog to stay and I just slowly padded my way to the kitchen, the caretaker was too busy in the garden to notice me. I opened the cupboards to the drawers and then I found it, it was glistening, tempting me to take it.
With the knife inhand I made my way upstairs to my room and kneel in front of my dog. Those innocent eyes stared at me oblivious to what was happening. The dog wag its tail seemingly waiting for me to play like how I usually would when I start to approach the little critter. I unconsciously held the knife tighter in my hand, it seems to fit perfectly. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, and my heart skipped a beat as I plunge the sharp blade roughly into the poor dog's neck. My hands trembled as it yelps in pain and the sound only fueled my desire to stab it a few more times. Stab after stab felt incredible, like an achievement, I felt very proud of myself.
How the blade would slice its way deeper inside
How the blood splatters into my arms as I drew it in
How I saw my lovely dog whimpering to its last breathe
It was ecstasy.
As the dog soon died after, my floor was by now bathed in blood.
Ohh so Red...
The color was so striking, so wonderful, so inviting. I could never forget that moment for that day marked my wonderful days of searching for victims and my deadly deeds in the future.
I cleaned up the mess I made that day, scrubbed the floor clean with an old shirt of mine and discarded the remains of the dead dog in my lawn. No one knew that I killed my pet,No one really noticed its absence from that day.
But later that week my Dad finally remembered and he asked me.
Lost..Charlotta lost.
I stammered word after word. Speaking was not really my forte back then. I was already seven but I spoke like a four year old child learning to speak. I had trouble communicating and forming sentences were hard for me. He just patted my head and promised me that he would buy me a new one to which I promptly refused. I shook my head no, afraid that I could not control my infatuation with kitchen knives and blood anymore.
One skeleton burried on my lawn was enough at that time.
S.
