I used to kill animals.
Ants, to be exact.
I was on the verge of four in front of the white house on the corner in Leamington, where we lived. I can remember my red polka dot summer dress. My mother was sweeping the sidewalk after mowing the lawn. I was marching along behind her on the already swept parts. I can still see my white-sandeled foot coming down and flattening the fattest black ant I could find every few seconds.
I remember my mother looking at me with horror. Mock; I now know.
"How would you feel if I giant ant squished you?"
I had peered up at her through my brown bangs for a second, shrugged my shoulders and killed four more ants before the novelty wore off. But the last two were far less fatter then the rest had been.
That night I had horrible nightmares of giant black cartoon ants wearing red polka dot bandanas, chasing me.
I have never killed any form of life since, except for my first spider last week. It was a personal triumph-I have always wanted
to kill one of them. Daddy Long-Legs, especially. They have freaky legs. I am working myself up to one of them.
But basically from all the information I have gathered, I am abnormal in my killing of ants. Almost everyone I know has a story of killing a toad, seagull or cat. Some even with things like firecrackers and Pepto Bismol. All I have to tell is my ant story. People look at me like I am crazy when I do. 'Who has not had fun killing ants when they were children', is the air they give off. 'Everybody has pulled wings off of flies.'
Ummm..yeah..not me...
Seems to lead a happy, ordinary life, you have to kill a few things when you were young.
Some murders get blamed on the fact "Jimmy" was always killing animals as a child and and his drunk mother was too busy with her head in the toilet to stop him.
But you cannot even argue the fact committers of human killings were more creative about how they were killing their chosen animals when they were younger. I have heard some weird stories from people.
I know friends who have lit catipillars on fire with W-D40 and played road hockey with field mice. I even know friends of a friend who killed a cat by throwing it repeatedly into the spinning back wheel of an upside down bike.
I know people who still laugh about the little tortures they have handed out as adults. But not one of these people are sitting in jail for murder. It makes me wonder. Everyone seems to have enjoyed a good killing.
So then, where is that fine line between what seems to be "normal" human behavior and the behavior of crazed, watery-eyed, flesh eating serial killers?
And why am I always the abnormal one when my chances are so much less likely I will become one?
I will continue to kill spiders.
Ants, to be exact.
I was on the verge of four in front of the white house on the corner in Leamington, where we lived. I can remember my red polka dot summer dress. My mother was sweeping the sidewalk after mowing the lawn. I was marching along behind her on the already swept parts. I can still see my white-sandeled foot coming down and flattening the fattest black ant I could find every few seconds.
I remember my mother looking at me with horror. Mock; I now know.
"How would you feel if I giant ant squished you?"
I had peered up at her through my brown bangs for a second, shrugged my shoulders and killed four more ants before the novelty wore off. But the last two were far less fatter then the rest had been.
That night I had horrible nightmares of giant black cartoon ants wearing red polka dot bandanas, chasing me.
I have never killed any form of life since, except for my first spider last week. It was a personal triumph-I have always wanted
to kill one of them. Daddy Long-Legs, especially. They have freaky legs. I am working myself up to one of them.
But basically from all the information I have gathered, I am abnormal in my killing of ants. Almost everyone I know has a story of killing a toad, seagull or cat. Some even with things like firecrackers and Pepto Bismol. All I have to tell is my ant story. People look at me like I am crazy when I do. 'Who has not had fun killing ants when they were children', is the air they give off. 'Everybody has pulled wings off of flies.'
Ummm..yeah..not me...
Seems to lead a happy, ordinary life, you have to kill a few things when you were young.
Some murders get blamed on the fact "Jimmy" was always killing animals as a child and and his drunk mother was too busy with her head in the toilet to stop him.
But you cannot even argue the fact committers of human killings were more creative about how they were killing their chosen animals when they were younger. I have heard some weird stories from people.
I know friends who have lit catipillars on fire with W-D40 and played road hockey with field mice. I even know friends of a friend who killed a cat by throwing it repeatedly into the spinning back wheel of an upside down bike.
I know people who still laugh about the little tortures they have handed out as adults. But not one of these people are sitting in jail for murder. It makes me wonder. Everyone seems to have enjoyed a good killing.
So then, where is that fine line between what seems to be "normal" human behavior and the behavior of crazed, watery-eyed, flesh eating serial killers?
And why am I always the abnormal one when my chances are so much less likely I will become one?
I will continue to kill spiders.
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