My First Murder

I committed my first murder at the age of twelve. I had killed before, but before

there were always motives such as self defense and protection of property. On December

25, 1991, however, I killed for the carnal sake of killing. Taking this life did not feel

wrong until the fraction of a second after it was too late. I remember vividly the pride I

felt in my steady aim, the rifle-sights barely moving from the tiny target I had chosen, and

then the crushing suffocation which replaced pride as soon as I squeezed my right index

finger. I was told that it was alright. My father said, 'good job.' The government said that

I was acting within the limits of the law. Strangely, I felt no comfort in knowing I had my

father and the government on my side. I still suffered prosecution, not from any judge or

jury, but from myself.

        I am sure that by now you are appalled (a little anyway) with me. It may not

change your feelings any, but at least let me explain that I did not kill any human being.

The life which I took belonged to a squirrel, and squirrel was in season. some would call it

a rodent, too stupid to get out of the path of their Goodyears. On the other hand, I as well

as many others would call the squirrel and most other animals a dignified and noble

creature. Anyway, the life was a squirrel's and the weapon was a Crossman pellet rifle.

The weapon was a Christmas present, the squirrel was not included.

        Upon reaching my grandparents' farm for Christmas dinner (lunch for those of you

not raised in the country), I set out after my adversary. Any adversary would have

sufficed, but it was the...