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.
ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ 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.
ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ ÃÂÃ 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...