It was the first time I killed a man. It was an accident; that first death. It was completely unintentional. The ones that followed were much more fulfilling, but who can forget their first?
His name was Jack. He was twelve and he had white-blonde hair paired with light brown eyes. He was riding his bike by the railroad tracks that day. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. For him, it was the last.
I was thirteen. Gangly and awkward. I was sitting on the tracks, watching him do donuts and chewing on a piece of taffy. He was getting bored, you could tell by the way he kept stopping to stare down the tracks.
"Do you want to race?" he asked, stopping beside me. I swallowed my last bite of taffy and shrugged.
"Why not?" I replied. He climbed off the bike and we stood on the rails. He cheated, by starting first, taking off before an actual count could be made. At thirteen, this pissed me off and I ran as fast as I ever have. I grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him to the ground.
"Hey, get off asshole." He struggled, trying to shove me off. But I was bigger and I pinned him. Sitting on his chest, I held his head and bashed it against the rocky ground. He screamed only once before he began to seize under me.
His struggling frightened and intrigued me. I continued to sit on his chest and watched his eyes roll back into his skull. I left him there, ostensibly to get help. It was not my intention to kill him. He just shouldn't have cheated. When I returned, his body was pulped by the train, all evidence of my crime wiped away.
His name was Jack. He was twelve and he had white-blonde hair paired with light brown eyes. He was riding his bike by the railroad tracks that day. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. For him, it was the last.
I was thirteen. Gangly and awkward. I was sitting on the tracks, watching him do donuts and chewing on a piece of taffy. He was getting bored, you could tell by the way he kept stopping to stare down the tracks.
"Do you want to race?" he asked, stopping beside me. I swallowed my last bite of taffy and shrugged.
"Why not?" I replied. He climbed off the bike and we stood on the rails. He cheated, by starting first, taking off before an actual count could be made. At thirteen, this pissed me off and I ran as fast as I ever have. I grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him to the ground.
"Hey, get off asshole." He struggled, trying to shove me off. But I was bigger and I pinned him. Sitting on his chest, I held his head and bashed it against the rocky ground. He screamed only once before he began to seize under me.
His struggling frightened and intrigued me. I continued to sit on his chest and watched his eyes roll back into his skull. I left him there, ostensibly to get help. It was not my intention to kill him. He just shouldn't have cheated. When I returned, his body was pulped by the train, all evidence of my crime wiped away.
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